Sword And Bow
by Meharet
Summary: When Orcs descend from Gundabad into the Misty Mountains, and Easterlings are seen in the company of the Nazgul, Legolas and Aragorn fight for their lives when it is revealed the invaders from Rhud seek the Palantir of Amon Sûl. Chapter One revised.
1. A Looming Fear

_Disclaimer: I own NOTHING of middle-earth. All places and characters are JRR Tolkein's, and New Line Cinema. NO monies are made from this. It is strictly a work of enjoyment._

**The use of Trelan and Raneian from the Mellon Chronicles, as well as said references to events in said Chronicles, was given by Cassia when I sent her the synopsis. As far as I know, Fingolfin and Iswilen are constructs of my own imagination. Any resemblence to anyone living or dead is strictly in the mind of the reader, though the name of Fingolfin comes from the Sillmarillion. This Fingolfin was named for that great hero.**

THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN REVISED AS OF 5/18/03

SWORD AND BOW 

By Meharet

Chapter One

A looming danger

_The present..._

The sun had just touched the tip of the Misty Mountain range above Imladris as Strider knelt down within the underbrush, mere miles from the gates of his home. His gaze was focused on a small movement in the woods in front of him. His listening skill, sharpened and honed by his past months with the Rangers, detected a small brush of dry leaves, the snap of a tiny birch twig, and the intake of breath.

_He is just ahead of me._

An easy smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he stalked the unsuspecting target. It moved a few paces forward. Strider moved with it, masking his own footfalls within his prey's. One step too far and the target would hear him, though not because of any clumsiness in the Ranger's movements. Nay - because the intended prey was an elf.

And Strider knew from experience how keen an elf's hearing could be.

The target moved to the left and Strider matched his movements to theirs. He pulled his short knife from his belt and knelt as far into the brush as possible without disturbing the dried twigs and foliage of the dwindling winter. Fireflies twinkled around him, like tiny jewels caught in cascading starbursts, signaling the approach of spring.

The elf moved again and Strider caught the fading glint of sunlight off polished steel. The elf had drawn his sword. _So he knows he's being tracked. Good. It should make the attack sweeter._ Strider flattened himself, held his breath. He counted the seconds in his head, listening only for the elf's movements. To his surprise the being moved away from him, and not closer.

Deciding the game was done, Strider listened only long enough to pinpoint the elf's exact location before springing up. He ran two steps and launched up, tackling the being in the midsection. He was rewarded with a satisfying "uhmph" as the two of them hit the ground.

Since he'd knocked the wind from his opponent, Strider easily rolled the elf onto his back and sat on his chest, his short knife held under the being's chin.

Dark hair splayed about the elf's face. A pair of angry and stunned grey eyes peered up at him. Their countenance softened when he recognized his attacker to be of kin and not enemy. He attempted to speak, but found it difficult with the Ranger atop him. He managed a breathless, "Estel!" then he blinked and whispered. "Get...off..."

Strider gave a wide smile, his left eyebrow arched as he continued holding the knife in its precarious situation. "Mae govannen, Elrohir, my brother. Now about that last boast you made, the one how no mortal could sneak upon you in these woods - care to reconsider such an idle pretension?"

Elrohir gave the Dunédan a half smile, but his colour had turned a bright cherry red. Unexpectedly, he went limp beneath the mortal, his eyes closed. 

When Elrohir did not move for several breaths, worry fastened its icy hands upon the Ranger's shoulders and he pulled the knife away. With lightening speed, the gray eyes opened, and Elrohir grabbed Strider's left arm and pulled it forward. Strider became unbalanced, falling over onto his left shoulder, yet kept the knife pointed a safe distance away from himself and his brother Elf. 

Elrohir must have noticed this action, for the Elf wrenched the knife and rolled to his right, hoisting Strider onto his left side, then his back as he stood, all his bodily intentions evident in his plan to pin the Dunédan beneath him. Yet before the Noldor could reverse their positions and sit on Strider's chest, the Ranger rolled into the Elf's shins, grabbed his ankles and pulled.

Elrohir was flat on his back again, repeating his winded utterance from before. Laughter, sweet and clear, filled the small glade as the brothers shared in each other's company.

"Are you two quite finished?" came a voice from somewhere to Strider's left.

Elladan, Elrohir's twin and older by mere minutes, stood just on the clearing's edge. His bow was shouldered upon his back and his sword sheathed at his left hip. Dressed in deep green with a brown cloak, the older elf blended in with the surrounding foliage. He wore a slightly bored expression on his handsome face, though the right corner of his mouth threatened a smile. His dark hair was pulled completely away from his face and fell back over his shoulder in a thick braid.

"You are a thunderstorm in the woods, Elrohir," Strider said as he stood. "Sindarin stealth you do not possess." He looked to Elladan as the older Elf approached. "Suilad, Elladan," Strider greeted as he reached down and pulled Elrohir to his feet. "Why do you patrol the lands so close to home?"

"Orcs," Elrohir said as he dusted off his own brown cloak.

"Orcs?" Aragorn felt his heart skip. Then the rumors were true - Orcs were indeed along the Misty Mountains and frighteningly close to his beloved home.

Elladan came toward them. He took Strider into a deep embrace, the movement sending dust to float in tiny moats about the two of them. Elladan's fair face revealed a grimace and he gave a fake cough. "By the Valar, Estel. You must come in and wash before you track in half of Middle-Earth with you. Father will be so happy to see you." 

Elrohir nodded and hugged Estel as well. "How long were you gone this time?"

"Nine months," Estel took his Elven short-knife back from Elrohir and resheathed it. He sighed heavily. "My excursions with the Dúnedain have revealed what is apparently a large movement of orcs - specifically within the Misty Mountains." He looked at each of them and saw for the first time the ravages of worry on their perfectly smooth faces. "How often have orcs been seen so close to the Last Homely House that you post watchers?"

Elladan answered. "Often as in weekly. They've been attacking our hunting parties as close as we are now to the gates. Just a fortnight ago, a small party of Wood Elves, traveling along the East road here were attacked. A few of them died after we killed the Orcs, their wounds festering with some poison Ada could not identify, and none of his remedies would help. We're unsure about the Orc's destination. Father sent Glorfindel to the Rohan in warning six months ago , though he doubts the King will listen to the Elves."

Strider frowned. "Six months? And Glorfindel has not returned?"

"Nay, and there has been no word from Rohan." 

Something else in the Elf's retelling caught along the Ranger's attention. "A poison so deadly to Elves? It was not Morgul?"

Elrohir shook his head. "Nay. Ada has been quite distressed, as it was only those Elves engaged in battle that fell to it. Only days before the Elf attack, a smaller party of Men near our borders were attacked. We did not find their bodies until well afterward - but they were..."

Strider worried over his brother's distress. He looked to Elladan when it appeared Elrohir would not continue. "Please...do not taunt me this way."

Elladan's pallor shifted from pale to the color of fresh born grass. "They were...corrupted." 

Strider narrowed his eyes at such a ghastly description. "Elladan..." he stepped near his brother. "What does that mean?"

The elder twin shook his head, yet his expression remained dark and pained. His gray eyes flashed anger, if only briefly, and he attempted to hide such emotion with a smile. A smile that did not touch those eyes. "Let us talk of this later. Ada can describe the events easier and with a healer's grace." He looked away, up at the sky. "The hour grows late and we should return home."

Strider could do nothing but agree. "This is alarming news. What I have to tell will only add more mystery to these goings-on." He looked up at the darkening sky. "There are Easterlings at Dol Guldur," Aragorn looked at Elladan, then to Elrohir and registered their aghast expressions. "There is more - but you are right. I need to wash the months of travel from me and dine with my family. I would know more of this poison." He smiled at his brothers to ease the tension of his revelation. "Let us go home."

The three traveled together as the sun finished its descent, and dark eyes followed their movements through the veil to the home of Lord Elrond.

~*~

Dressed in little more than a soft pair of velvet breaches, water droplets still clinging to his chest and arms, Strider reached up over his head and stretched his aching muscles. His damp hair fell below his shoulder blades. _These foul locks have grown nearly as long as the twin's. Or perhaps even longer than Legolas'._ He thought of the elf's waist length tresses and wondered if his dear friend had finally cut the golden locks back or if he'd continued growing them since their last parting. 

_Nearly a year has passed since I set my eyes on my Mirkwood brother._

He bent forward, then over, touching the floor with his hands, Strider extended his neck, letting the ache in his muscles flatten out. His body was bruised from travel, and he was nine months tired and ready for a soft bed. His rooms in Imladris had been kept clean and neat. Dinner would be soon, and he looked forward to a hot meal, good conversation, and the company of his family.

Yet the news of this poison plagued him as much as the information he carried of the Easterlings.

With a deep sigh born of weariness, Strider brought his long form upward and lowered his arms. His muscles tingled from the stretch. He agreed with the Elven philosophy of cleanliness - of how it could lift the spirit's darkness. He threw on a tunic of soft, brushed velvet and the fabric picked at his rough hands. Idly he pulled his hair over his right shoulder and set a brush to it, wincing as the teeth caught on unruly tangles.

"And did my wayward son hope to completely avoid his Father upon his return?"

Strider spun round to see Lord Elrond standing in the doorway. The Elven lord's robes of brown and burgundy fell in perfect symmetry to the floor around him. His neatly braided hair cascaded over his shoulders and he glided quickly to Strider, almost as if he were walking on air.

The two embraced, Elrond holding on just a tad longer than usual. He pushed Strider away from him, but kept his hands on his shoulders. "You are growing up so fast. So very fast. You are truly a man now, Estel."

The Ranger gave a soft laugh. "It has taken twenty-three years and months away from you to bring this realization to fruition? Perhaps I should have left years ago." He squeezed his father's right hand on his shoulder then turned away to continue with the painful menstruations of his hair. Perhaps it _was_ time to cut it back. "Was there no word from Mirkwood while I was away?"

The brush was taken gently from his hand, but Aragorn stopped his father with a touch of his hand on the Elven Lord's wrist. "I'd rather braid it myself."

Elrond nodded and returned the brush to his son. "No, Prince Legolas did not send any letters. I'm sure he has been as preoccupied and busy as you have been. I hope this oversight does not leave you feeling slighted."

He looked at Elrond as he successfully pulled the comb once through his dark tresses. "Slighted? Never by Legolas." Wincing, he pulled the comb harder, and after several failed attempts, handed the object of torture to his father. Elrond took the comb, and to Strider's surprise, began combing out the tangles himself. He had not done this since the Ranger was a boy.

Aragorn continued, enjoying the feel of the comb on his scalp. "After our last excursion, I would not be remiss to believe the Prince is avoiding me. And I would still not feel slighted. The wounds gathered from that adventure still pain me in damp weather. Mayhaps Legolas is afraid I will drag him into danger again." When the combing was finished, Strider took too up the groomed masses and began to braid. .

Elrond smiled, the expression so open and comforting on his face. A face that Strider had seen too often creased in concern. It seemed at times that his father held the weight of Middle-earth on his shoulders. And being the keeper of so many of the world's histories under this very roof, perhaps he did.

"As I recall...you had convinced the young prince that a dragon had come again to the Lonely Mountain?"

Strider turned to look at his father, whose eyebrows were now poised in their usual scowling position. The twins had inherited their father's well known eyebrows and on any occasion, Strider enjoyed boasting the similarity. "Well all the signs pointed to such -"

"Only it turned out to be a ring of mithril smugglers impersonating a fire-drake." Elrond turned his head. "And again you and Elrohir carried Thranduil's son to me."

Strider shook his head, a smile on his face as he bound the end of the braid. "But he recovered, as did I. You are a master healer."

"Not always," Elrond nodded, and Strider turned to look into his Father's face. The Elven Lord's expression had darkened and a sadness disturbed his grey eyes. Strider knew Elrond thought of the poison the twins spoke of. "But one day - and I fear sooner than later - the world will not right itself, and something tragic will befall you - or those that travel with you." His expression became even more serious. "But I hear you have news of your travels? Elladan says you have spotted Easterlings - in Dol Guldur?" 

"Reports only. There is much of the story to tell," Strider reached a hand to his Father's arm. "And there is much you must unburden upon me."

Elrond held out his hand to his son and placed it gently on the human's shoulder. "Then let us go to dinner and discuss these things with the twins. I'm afraid adventure and danger is just around the corner for you once again." He paused and Strider looked up at him. "But let us keep Legolas out of this one. I'm still awaiting the day the poor boy walks into Imladris under his own power."

"His time with me is not as bad as all that."

"Yes," Elrond gave his son a sad smile. "It is."

~*~

The dinner was an intimate one, with only the family present as the hour was late. Candles flickered and swayed in the evening air as Elladan and Elrohir caught Strider up on the events since his departure north.

"...near the outer ford. We were caught completely off guard." Elladan shook his head and sighed heavily. "They died from Orc weapons, so quick their spirits fled with urgency. It was the others, those of the Wood Elves," the elder twin rubbed his temple with his fingers. "The wounds seemed simple at first - easy for Ada to treat, and ready for time to erase."

When the twin paused, Strider looked to Elrond. The Elven Lord gave a slow sigh and he stroked the rim of is wine glass with the index finger of his right hand. "It was like nothing I had ever seen. The poison was hidden, and did not fester like Morgul. It did not pucker the skin. There was no discoloration, save a redness that sometimes accompanies wounds. All of them became dizzied and feverish within hours." He took his hand away and placed it in his lap. "They all died in the same night. Nothing I did, no prayers to the Valar would bring them back."

Strider gave a small blessing in the grey tongue. It was always a dark day when one of the Fair Folk passed to the halls of Mandos. Immortal lives, destroyed in an instant. It was so sad to him, where a man's lifetime is but a small movement of time for an Elf. The very fact that his brothers were centuries older than he was baffling at times, especially when they acted like human children of four and five.

Which was often.

Strider nodded slowly. "The corruption - my brothers spoke of this. What does that mean? Was the deaths of the men different? Or was the poison of some other origin?"

"I do not know," Elrond said, and this admission frightened Strider. There was little in healing that his Father did not understand, and so he had taught the human child. Seeing his father distressed burdened his own heart and he found himself leaning closer from across the table as Elrond spoke. "They did not bring the bodies here for fear of infection from whatever had been done to them. Corruption is the only word we knew to describe them. It was as if whatever had infected them, had eaten away at their bones, from the inside."

The image was ghastly and Strider sat back, his eyes wide. "Eaten away at them..." Images of bone-less men flared bright in his mind and he shook his head. "Surely this is not the Orc's making. They do not think or invent, but do as told. How is it they could create such a thing?"

"We found nothing upon their discarded blades," Elladan said. His complexion had paled again, and he sat still, his hands hidden from view. "No trace of Morgul, as you know Ada can detect. We do not know how the element was administered. Only that it kills, and it kills quickly."

"The Orcs," Strider thought a subject change could help the mood of his family, who had seen something so horrible it the image had lingered too long in their minds. "Do you see any purpose to the attacks?" Strider asked. "Are they searching for something? After someone?"

"None that we can discern," Elrohir answered. "Six hunting parties could go out, and maybe one will be attacked on one day, and all of them the next. There seems to be no real reason. I do not believe they are hunting us - but something else. And we are simply in the way."

Strider frowned. He sipped his wine and smiled. A good Mirkwood blend, a present from the Prince. "Something else...?"

"We know not," Elladan shook his head. "Since the deaths, the gate has been kept closed, which saddens us. Imladris has always been open to all."

"Orcs on the move through the mountains is ill tidings," Aragorn said, and he pulled his pipe from his pocket and proceeded to load the bowl. "Even worse the news they carry a new threat. Do you believe they are traveling from Gundabad?"

Elrond shook his head. "I am not sure. What of the reports of Easterlings in Dol Guldur?"

Aragorn shook his head, the pipe between his teeth. "We had heard rumors, stories really, from some of the smaller townsfolk. We sent two parties to see, approaching from opposite sides. Only one scout returned alive, and that was all he could say before he died. Of that poison I can vouch. Morgul."

Silence was a tangible thing inside the room. Finally Elrond spoke. "We must know why the Easterlings are at Dol Guldir, and why they have ventured out of Rhud. As for the poison," he shook his head. 

Strider nodded. "I fear all these events are somehow linked together. The movement of the orcs, the attacks, the Easterlings' appearance."

"May very well be," Elladan said. "We must confirm this report. I have heard rumor that the Nazgul inhabit Dol Guldur - 'twould be foul news indeed if we discovered the two of have become partners. Nazgul and Easterling."

"Too dangerous..." Elrond began. 

Strider shook his head. "I have already laid plans to investigate. I leave in the morning."

"Count us in as well," Elladan said and he turned to Elrond, his right index finger raised. "Do not protest, Ada. We've been home far too long. We need to be with Estel, looking for what's happening. There is something coming, Father. You know this. We all do. Something is stirring in Mordor. It is moving."

Elladan's words sent a shiver up Aragorn's spine and he tapped his spent pipe weed out of the bowl and onto his empty plate.

"It'll be just us," Elrohir said. His eyes sparkled and Aragorn nearly laughed at the Elf's enthusiasm. He hadn't really planned on traveling with the twins. Truth be told, his thoughts had lingered about the idea of heading to Mirkwood to see if Legolas was free to accompany him.

But the road to Eryn Lasgalen led in the opposite direction, and such a trip would put him weeks behind. He needed to head straight out, and his brothers would be good companions. Their skill with sword and bow was nearly as perfected as Legolas'. Though Strider tended to think that his friend's skill was a bit sharper. Legolas' aim was true, and virtuality anything in the elf's hand was a weapon.

He felt eyes on him and looked to see his family's gazes upon him. Strider returned his Father's gaze. He waited for the protestations, for the thousands of reasons to stay and let others do this, and for the eyebrows.

Instead Elrond nodded. He put his hands together. "Then let us prepare the three of you. You'll need provisions - Dol Guldur is through the Misty Mountains." He rose and began his abandonment of the room. He paused and turned back to his sons. "Things are no longer as they seem in our beautiful place, my sons. Be careful - trust yourself, and come back to Imladris safe and in one piece. Do not let a single blade harm your skin, for my heart would break if I lost you." His gaze lingered upon Strider. "All of you."

With a final sigh, Elrond left the room.

"Ada is worried," Elrohir said. "The death of the Wood Elves - and the condition of those men. All has placed so much burden on him."

Elladan nodded. He leaned forward and laid his elbows on the table as he rubbed his chin. "His healing skills are legendary - and now he finds something that escapes his vast knowledge. 'Tis a frightening thing." He looked across the table to Strider. "You are packed?"

"Always." He began filling the bowl of his pipe again. Plans and maps and shortcuts rummaged around in his head.

"We could go to Mirkwood first," Elrohir ventured.

"I have considered this - but Mirkwood lies northeast, and we should venture southeast. I do not need Legolas now."

Elrohir's expression darkened. "Does that mean one of us must assume Legolas' role?" He shook his head. "I shan't want it to be me - I have seen what your adventuring does to those you protect, Telcontar. I am not sure my taste for punishment rivals that of your Mirkwood brother. I for one do not wish to take the Prince's place."

__________________________________________________

_Six Months earlier._

The edges of winter. Bow and arrow were little in the way of protection in close quarters, and he was forced to pull his long-knife from its sheath at his hip, his bow set on the ground at his feet. The spider, its massive shape shadowing him as he knelt down on his right knee, leapt from the tree. Exhaustion threatened to sway his aim, but the strong need for survival pushed the weakness away, sending it into a corner to be dealt with at a more opportune time. He used his body as a brace as the spider landed easily upon the blade, the shaft skewering its center segment to the point of breaking. Vile black blood oozed down the blade as Legolas used his shoulders to hoist the dying spider away. It landed with a sickening thud against the very tree it had used to launch its attack.

_'Twas the largest of the foul beasts I have seen in these long years._

The Archer and his party had been away for nearly a week, searching the northern forests of Rhovanion for a hunting party missing for a span as long. The missing Elves had been found quite close to where the party now fought, all dead. Legolas had found no clue as to their butcherers as the area of their demise had been picked clean. No Orc blade, no spider's web. There had been nothing. Horror-filled, they had gathered what they could of the decimated brethren, and started their return home, no heart anxious to be the bearer of sad news. 

And as Prince, Legolas had born the tidings particularly hard of a personal nature. The Elf had had very little in the way of rest since setting out on such a quest, and the nagging despair that ate away at him, that errant part of him schooled from childhood, that somehow their deaths had been his fault, set sleep at a distance still. _I should have gone with them_, had been his constant thoughts. _I should have been there to defend them._

But their despair and saddened faces did not have long to settle before they were set upon by spiders too numerous to count.

A call to his right brought the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen around, his blade held in both hands, at the ready. His friend Trelan had been pinned in by two spiders, each larger than the one the prince had felled. Legolas could not help a smile on his lips. _Nay, Trelan has found its two elder siblings_. Trelan, small in stature for an elf, seemed minimized as he launched several arrows into the spider's luminous eyes with little effect.

_No, there is an effect. He has become an irritant and angered them_. Retrieving his bow, Legolas resheathed his knife, pulled an arrow from his quickly diminishing supply, and launched it directly into the middle section of the spider closest to Trelan. It let out a howling shriek before dying as it turned on its back and twitched.

Trelan, noting where his prince's arrow had done its damage, nodded to his friend and launched his own attack at the second beast. The second spider died beside its kin. _Well done, my friend._

The canopy of trees above him shrouded the area in shadow as any light that could filter down from the moving leaves was absorbed by so many spider bodies. Legolas' heart sank as he realized the sheer numbers of his foe. They are so many. _It is as if we have stumbled upon a nest where I am certain there was none before. Why have they ventured so far north of Eryn Lasgalen?_

Raniean fought a good distance away, his sword drawn, the glint of filtered sun on metal and the clang of steel evidence of his volley. The Prince made as if to lend aid, but again his weariness stayed him and he put hand to brow. Weight pressed down upon him, blame for the slain Elves, and now blame for leading his party into such a massive attack. Taking a deeper breath, unwilling to surrender totally to despair and allowing anger to invade his senses, Legolas straightened and checked each of his party. Three were unseen and he feared he had already lost them to the battle. _These beasts fight from fear - they do not bite for food. But what drives them such? What is pressing them so far from their nests?_ The Prince knew nearly every tree of his woodland realm. He knew where the Spiders had nested for years. _They should not have been here. We were not prepared._

Now and then, the Elf Prince sensed stray, alien thoughts. Fear. Terrible dread. Terror. These beasts were afraid of something, yet they did not know the name of their foe, only that they drove onward to survive. Even the trees around him echoed the fear in his mind.

Something brushed his leg. Legolas cursed so weary was he that his addled mind had allowed him to drop his guard, so much that a spider had crept behind. It wrapped two of its legs about his ankle. Dropping his bow, the prince pulled his knife from its sheath again, its blade slick from the blood of many of the beasts. His intent was to hack at the legs snaking around his ankle, but the spider tightened its grip quicker and pulled harder than Legolas expected. The Prince was yanked from his feet. He tried to twist his body around, not wanting to land face first in the grass, his back vulnerable.

But his movement only hindered his fall as the shoulder of his sword arm was jarred. The handle, slick with blood, was lost from his grip and he found himself being pulled along the ground and then upward toward the spider. 

"Legolas!" came the cry of Trelan.

As the beast lifted him from the ground, his few remaining arrows tumbling from his quiver, Legolas pulled two small knives from the upper wrappings of his boots. Holding the blades down toward his elbows, he spun their deadly ends at the limbs about his ankle. Two strokes, a spray of blood, and he found himself falling, the spider's legs severed.

The ground came fast and with the impact the jarring of air from his lungs. With no time to steal a breath, Legolas spied the spider's remaining limbs as they sought to crush him. He turned to his right and rolled up to bend down on one knee as he gasped for air. Three more slashes and he spun round again to avoid a nasty slap to his back by the spider's remaining appendages.

The trees wailed in anger and surprise. They called out to the Elves, and Legolas heard them. Something was coming. Whatever it was caused the wild to shrink away._What could have them so frightened - so terrified?_

"Legolas," a voice called out. The prince cast a glance to see Raniean tossing his own long bow to him. In his haste to catch the needed weapon, the Prince quickly resheathed his small knives, ignoring the abrupt pain along his right calf. Raniean's gift was easily plucked from the air, though the movement caused another burst of pain from his calf. Several spent arrows lay at his feet.

Aware of the spider bearing down at him, Legolas bent, scooped an arrow in his hand, turned and fired with forced precision. The beast quavered, then fell upon its back.

Something solid connected with his back and the prince stumbled forward, his weight causing more pain to flare in his calf as pushed his weight upon it. _Have I twisted it in some way? Or perhaps the spider's grip was stronger then I believed._ With a spin round, the elf looked down to see what had nearly caused him to fall. 

An orc shield.

"Yrchs!" the cry sprang from his lips.

The prince's hopes dashed as he looked up to see Orcs pouring into the battle, a dark and ominous spreading of evil. Their number outranked that of the Elven party. This is what the trees had warned him about. 

One of the monsters ran at him. Retrieving another arrow from the ground, Legolas shot the weapon into the eye of the advancing menace.

The creature fell dead at the elf's feet. Motion to his right brought the prince's attention round. He barely evaded an orc's rough blade. Spying his long-knife on the ground behind the spider, the prince ducked to the other side of the beast's appendages and leapt to his weapon. His hands hit the ground first and he slid a small amount before his palm connected with the weapon. It felt comfortable and right in his hands. He heard the orc give a cry. The prince pulled the blade to his hands, and with a cry of his own, equal in volume and pitch, Legolas brought the knife around so that the advancing orc impaled himself upon it.

Twice the blade had saved his life. Legolas shoved the beast away and pulled his weapon from its chest. More orcs had now infested the fight - and a strange thing was occurring. _The spiders are fleeing!_ Legolas saw Trelan and Raniean in a challenged battle with four orcs. Several of the creatures had his people pinned in, the close quarters of the battle ground still not advantageous to bow and arrow.

More of his people were missing and Legolas hinged on giving a cry of retreat. He sheathed his blade and took in a deep breath as something hit him from behind. The Prince fell to his right, his lower legs catching on the limbs of a fallen spider. He landed painfully on his scabbard, his long-knife now readily pinned beneath him as an orc wearing a horned helm and spiked battle armor stood above him, his hands held high ready to cleave the elf in half.

Until a silver-threaded arrow struck the foul creature in the throat. Black blood spit furiously as the well aimed arrow pierced the orc's jugular. The creature screamed out, dropping its weapon as it fell backward. Legolas sat up, his calf again stabbing at him in pain. But his gaze was fixed upon the arrow, at the silver that glinted from the fletchings in the filtered sunlight.

_That is not a Mirkwood arrow._

A cry of attack like none he had ever heard sounded and the prince turned to his left to see his company now joined by at least twenty more. Elves, dressed in brilliant greens, their blond hair a flash of light as they shot bow and wielded sword and long-knife. One of the invading elves ran in Legolas' direction, a six-foot long bow in his hand. His hair was pulled away from his face in a thick, herring braid that draped back over his shoulder.

_I know his face._ The approaching Elf leapt nimbly over the spider and flashed a grimace at the felled orc. He bent forward and retrieved his arrow. Legolas knew he stared openly at this kin as he sought his wearied mind for the name. The new comer's eyes narrowed and his delicate brow furrowed. "You have been injured." 

Legolas blinked, and then looked down where he pointed. Indeed, the boot and breaches of the calf that had pained him were swallowed in blood. _Ai! How is it I have been wounded? Mayhaps the spider's grip was stronger than I knew._

"Are you able to fight still?" the Elf asked in accented Sindarin.

Legolas nodded to the kin with the familiar face _I know you!_ The familiar Elf replaced his arrow to his quiver and offered Legolas his free hand. His grip was cool, unflexed by combat or exertion. With his help the Prince stood, and though the calf ached, he could walk on it still. "Aye, I can fight."

The strange elf gave the prince a devilish grin with an expression that rivaled Strider in its mischievousness. The Elf pulled two white-handled long-knives from a double sheath at his back, beneath his quiver. With a flourish he spun each in his hands until they came up in a fight-ready stance, his right blade up, his left blade faced down. In that moment, recognition flooded Legolas.

The memories came in flashes. Mere bits and pieces of things attached to that face, to his movements. Younger days, new to the world, filled with delight and discovery. Laughter. Games. His first bow and quiver. His first lesson and his chagrin at being bested by his closest friend...

"Fingolfin?"

The elf nodded. "So you do remember me, Greenleaf."

No other save the son of his father's best friend had ever called him that with regularity.

"Is it you?" All thoughts of the battle vanished from the Prince's mind as he focused on a friend he believed long departed to the Grey Havens. "But how are you here? Is your Ada here as well? Where is Iswilen?"

Fingolfin shot Legolas a warning frown. "My old friend, I understand happy reunions and indeed we have much to discuss. But there are fifty or so orcs to our meager thirty Elven kin. Mayhaps we should rejoin the battle so that such a meeting may take place?"

Legolas felt himself blush as his face became warm. _Yrch! What am I thinking? Have I forgotten we are all in a battle for our lives?_ He nodded, then turned to assess where he would be needed most. 

"As for my sister, she fights there." He pointed with the knife in his right hand, to a spot in the same direction.

Elven memory, when not clouded by heartbreak, is sharp and long. Fingolfin and Iswilen, Elven twins. Their father, Fingol, had been best friends with Thranduil, Legolas' father. The two had been Legolas' constant companions in childhood, just as Strider had had Elladan and Elrohir.

Tragedy had separated them, yet here reunited centuries later.

Iswilen fought with two knives so like her brother's, her evades and parries flawless, and her synchronization to movement impeccable. Legolas couldn't help but recognize Fingolfin's fighting moves. "You taught her well."

"She taught herself. There was no choice." He tilted his head to the Prince. "Shall we? I see a member of our group in need by that handsome birch."

The two swung into action, Legolas' thrusts and feints matching those executed by Fingolfin. The twin would feint, then thrust forward and Legolas would deliver the killing blow from behind. Often the roles were reversed, and the pair was unmatched.

_It is like we have never parted._

"Well done, Prince. I see you've had practice with the long-knife."

"Yes, indeed, but I am in curious fashion to your twin blades."

Fingolfin gave a rousing laugh. "Ah, 'tis not curiosity that sets their deadly aim to kill," he turned and using both knives simultaneously in a cleaving motion, removed an orc's head. "But my skill."

Legolas spun to his right, his long-knife removing a head as well with a single stroke. The creature's blood covered his legs from his thighs to the ground. As he moved back, fire burned in his calf again. _Ai...there is new pain. What is this foul curse upon my leg?_ He took a brief second to bend and examine the wound though the orc blood hindered any real vision. _It is as if the beast's blood is like contagion to my wound._ Suffice that it was indeed in need of attention, Legolas had no time to worry as two more orcs bolted at he and the twin.

Legolas ducked down as the first one tripped over him and was impaled on one of Fingolfin's knives. The second, seeing this playful trick, stopped and hesitated. Legolas stood, yet favored his right leg as the wound began to throb. The orc watched him, then yelled.

Legolas yelled back at him, with as much force.

The orc turned and ran in the opposite direction, only to be felled by a stroke from Raniean.

"Ah, see?" the Prince turned to give Fingolfin a broad smile.

"Twas not your ferocity, Legolas, but mayhaps your appearance. You are covered in blood and ghastly." Fingolfin's expression changed swiftly as he looked down at the Prince's calf. He gave a curse. "Oh by the Valar - that is an _open_ wound."

_Aye...were not most wounds open?_

The prince looked down at himself, and then looked at the nearly spotless and regal twin.The brightening of Fingolfin's eyes alerted Legolas that an orc was somewhere behind him. Swiveling his blade toward his elbow and taking it in both hands - in one swift movement - the prince thrust the long-knife backward beneath his right arm, where it connected solidly with the orc. It gave a piteous cry of surprise and fell away.

Legolas' joy transformed to dizziness as the world swayed. Fingolfin's face wavered and he would have fallen if the twin had not reached out to catch his shoulders. "Greenleaf? We have to remove your boot."

_What is wrong with me?This fatigue is so strong. I cannot steady my legs. I have sustained worse cuts._ He thought quickly of several incidents with his Ranger friend and satisfied himself that his abrupt weakness could not be from the wound. Yet his calf had now completely caught fire. He looked down and would not have been surprised to see flames enveloping the mysterious wound. _But something is amiss._ He glanced down at his leg as he righted himself and pushed his friend's steadying hand away. "I shall be fine. I am only tired."

"Fine is not the color of new foliage, Greenleaf. Your pallor is sickly and your sluggish fighting is not given to you from fatigue," Fingolfin's voice was soft, yet the prince's keen ears heard him. "We have to remove that boot. The orc's blood cannot travel into the open flesh."

Fingolfin's words made little sense to the Prince. Often in battle he had held wounds bathed in the blood of his enemy. Legolas tried to pull away and step back, but the right leg rebelled and he abruptly found himself upon his left knee. 

Fingolfin was beside him. But Legolas pushed at him. "Nay, fight. Rescue our kindred."

"We are all fine, Legolas," came Trelan's voice. "The enemy is dead, or having fled, troubles us no more." There was a pause, and then in a surprised voice, "Fingolfin?"

"Mae govannen, Trelan. That is a nasty wound upon your arm - similar to the one Greenleaf carries on his calf. Does it pain you? Och...you too have Orc's blood near an open cut." He turned and knelt beside Legolas. With strong hands he attempted to pull the Prince toward him, motioning for him to sit.

"It is over?" Legolas asked as he looked up at the faces now beginning to sway before him. He pushed Fingolfin's hand away. The movement aided in his dizziness and nausea turned his stomach and he found himself reaching out for the hand he'd pushed on. _Yrch...this cannot bode well_. _What has happened? Have I been felled by some mysterious spell? Or was it perhaps a blade tainted with Morgul poison?_ The last seemed less likely as he had been poisoned as such before, and it had taken him several days before the poison attacked him. This reaction was too immediate and he sat back, his wounded leg stretched out before him.

"Legolas, I do not jest when I say we must keep the blood from the wound." Fingolfin's voice held a note of fear and command. The Prince stared at his old friend. He was afraid. Deathly afraid of something. The use of the Prince's Sindarin name gave Legolas alarm enough, for the old friend rarely granted it voice unless the situation was serious. "I hope the breeches and boot's thick leather has kept it clean."

"May I have admittance?" came a soft voice.

The growing ring of Elven warriors parted and Legolas watched as Iswilen appeared and knelt at his feet. Dressed in a similar fashion as her brother, the twin immediately began removing the wrappings of his boot to clear away the wound. The movements, though gentle in some fashion, renewed the stinging pain and he protested.

"You have a wound indeed." Iswilen nodded. "But I'm afraid it was not designed by spider or orc, but by your own hand."

Legolas looked at his calf. His eyes widened and words would not come. He flushed with embarrassment. There, embedded to the hilt inside of his calf, was one of his short knives. Earlier he had missed the sheath completely, and buried the knife in his own calf._I have stabbed myself! Oh…see what your wearied mind has done to your abilities?_

To Legolas' chagrin, he heard the barely contained laughter of Trelan and Raniean.

"This is not a laughing matter," came Iswilen's comment. She took an end to her own cloak and wiped at the skin around the buried blade. It was red and puckered. "You have orc blood in the wound."

Fingolfin cursed again and punched at the ground.

Legolas shook his head, unsure of what she spoke or why her voice held a note of concern. Surely it was merely a wound cast in haste? _Too much haste. This is not something I wish Strider to know of. I would receive no end of torment from him in my miss-aim._ True, for he knew the Dunédan admired his skills with blade and bow. He looked at Fingolfin, and the twin's expression had moved from merriment to concern. 

_I do not like this look._

Fingolfin leaned to his sister. "Much has passed through?"

"I cannot tell," she continued to wipe it away. "I'll need to remove the blade and clean it quickly." And for the first time she looked up into her patient's face. 

Her eyes narrowed briefly before they widened incredibly large. Her mouth opened, then shut. A broad grin spread over her fair face, banishing the concern that had twisted her mouth.. "Legolas?"

The prince, now propped back on his elbows, returned her smile as best he could. His calf throbbed now with the attention given to it. "Suilad, Iswilen."

She shook her head slowly. "I would give you a proper greeting, and pull you to my arms, my prince, at a later time. For it is good to see you in one piece and my memories only extend to your return from Melech's possession by Lord Elrond. It is good to see you fit - but I think my attentions are better directed at your wound."

Legolas' expression darkened at the memory of his captivity so long ago in his youth, but it was quickly cast aside as another wave of dizziness overtook him and he laid himself prone on the ground, his view restricted to the treetops, green and yellow and laced with the whispy white etchings of webbing. 

Trelan moved to his side and knelt behind him. "Legolas?"

"I - I have been better. But…orc blood," he moved his head to look at Iswilen. "Surely I should have heard of such a malady, as which we have all fought Orcs before and never been felled by their blood. Is there something vile to it? Other than it's unpalatable stench?"

Her expression darkened, matching her brother's. "These Orcs are a special breed, Prince. We have tracked them for many days. Their blood carries poisons, deadly to man and Elf. Though it appears there is not a great amount here, I cannot tell how much is inside. My fear is that the tip of the blade touches the bone."

The Mirkwood prince feared her diagnosis was clear, for the pain did feel as if it radiated out from the center of his calf. 

"If the blood touches the bone, and the blood has traveled that path, it will eat away at it. I have to remove the blade and cleanse the blood away."

Legolas stared at Iswilen. "Eat away at the bone? How cursed is such a poison?" 

"We are unsure as of yet," Fingolfin said gently. "Iswilen can cure it, if she can get to it in time. We have lost many to this very poison, and it has taken many lives before such a cure was found." He looked at Legolas with a sad, heavy stare. "Many died from loss of limb."

The Prince's breath caught. Loss of limb? It did not surprise him that Elves had chosen death over a loss of a leg or arm. To be whole was to exude the gift of Ilûvatar. To be only a partial being - even Legolas would choose death and eternity in the House of Mandos first.

He became light-headed at the thought of some foul Orc poison eating away at his bone. "Please…remove it."

"This will hurt."

Legolas did not care. The image of his bone being eaten away was enough to stay any fear of pain he might have._ I have endured so much in my short years, so long by Strider's standards. I would do anything to prevent such an end as to have this wound remove my leg._

Fingolfin moved from his place beside his sister to a spot above Legolas' head. He leaned forward, his hands on the Prince's shoulders to brace him. _I believe he has done this before._

She read his expression and said, "Legolas, because it touches the bone, the pain will be greater."

Again he nodded to her, assured within himself that he could bare any manner of aches and pains.

With a nod to Fingolfin, the female twin grasped the knife's black and gold hilt firmly. Legolas could not stop his heart from racing. He had suffered many wounds before, arrows and swords alike. And each he had blundered through with little harm done. Yet the twins acted as if this was a great and terrible- 

Iswilen yanked the blade out in one movement an act of mercy as not to prolong the agony.

Pain. White. Hot. Blinding. Agony. Fire. Burning. It's whole traveled from his calf to his thighs and up until it consumed his mind as well as his body. Tears burned his eyes and he clenched them closed against the pain. Never had he experienced such a sudden, intense, sharp sensation. Spots danced before his eyes as he opened them, and a hiss escaped his lips as he pulled air into his lungs.

Fingolfin and his sister bent together over his leg, but his vision of them was dimming. It was as if they stood at the farthest end of a dimly lit tunnel as visible waves of pain pulsed from behind him and took away his vision. The light was extinguished slowly, yet he could hear all that happened around him.

"…more than I thought."

"Is he ill?" This was Trelan.

"He has fainted."

"Did it reach the bone?"

"Some, but not enough - I think. Here, let me clean it and then we wrap it. I suggest home and proper care."

"Will he...be okay?" That was Raniean.

"I believe so. Fingolfin, I need my kit - it is in the pouch at my hip." There was a commotion and several voices cried out in alarm. "I see Trelan also swoons. His wound contains blood in it as well. Nindë, will you see to him? And anyone else that suffers a sudden dizziness - all of the blood must be removed."

Fingolfin gave a low sigh. "Here we are, come to ask Thranduil's aid in our plight and we shall arrive with his wounded son in tow. Iswilen, I do not wish to bring him a corpse."

_I am no corpse...not yet_. But these words were never spoken as the sound of their voices grew distant, as if his spirit were being carried off. Fainter and fainter the sounds diminished, until the silence lulled him away. 

TBC


	2. Recovery and Death

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING of middle-earth. All places and characters are JRR Tolkein's, and New Line Cinema. NO monies are made from this. It is strictly a work of enjoyment.

**The use of Trelan and Raneian from the Mellon Chronicles, as well as said references to events in said Chronicles, was given by Cassia when I sent her the synopsis. As far as I know, Fingolfin and Iswilen are constructs of my own imagination. Any resemblence to anyone living or dead is strictly in the mind of the reader, though the name of Fingolfin comes from the Sillmarillion. This Fingolfin was named for that great hero.**

**To Alexa: I feel I really need to address your question. Legomance? Let me assure you the answer is no. It is my intention NOT to have this a Mary Sue. Iswilen is there because I love Eowyn, and because I have set this story way before her time, I wanted a strong female in there. Does that help? I had never heard the term Legomance – I love it!**

**To Jambaby: Yes, Melech is in reference to The Mellon Chronicles and their Prisoner of Darkness. I sent her a synopsis and gained permission.**

**To those who have reviewed for me, a great big THANK YOU for your time and consideration. **

Chapter Two

Recovery and death

_The Present…_

Spring aided in their trek over the Misty Mountains. The days were warm and sunny, but not overly so as the night's frost gave them reason for small fires, conversation and stories. They encountered small gatherings of orcs sprinkled about the mountain paths and with stealth born of Númenor and Noldor, watched in the brush and listened. Little was gained by way of useful information for the Orc's descent from Gundabad, only that they drove onward to the southeast over the Gladden Fields. 

Toward Dol Guldur. 

Twilight, that dimming of the world before night that came upon all things alive and set them to sleep, found the trio camped on the edge of the Gladden River. Strider sat high in one of the sparce trees on the mountain's edge. His bow rested low, yet ready in his left hand. His quiver hung within easy reach upon his back. His grey gaze watched the marshes which lay as the gateway before the forests of Mirkwood. This is where his ancestor Isuldir had lost Middle-Earth's greatest prize.

His muscles gave a shiver, yet he was unsure if the response was from the cold, or memories locked within the marsh waters before him. These lands had seen much evil, much torture, and much deceit. Even now he could see the last of the Orcs he and his brothers had tracked as they made their loping way toward the dark forest. 

A small sound, no more than a slight disturbance of water. caught the Ranger's attention. His muscles tensed. Strider's bow came to be ready, an arrow knotched, its fletching placed. He turned in the direction of the sound, only to spy a tall, dark-haired Elf standing beside the water's edge, looking up at the Dunédan. 

"Is it also your plan to stay in the trees all night as well as the day?" 

With a sigh and a quick glance at the darkening wild, Strider returned his bow to his quiver and with an ease taught to him by his Mirkwood brother, leapt easily and gracefully to the ground, his knees bending deep to keep himself from injury. Legolas' words always returned to him upon this action. _'Tis not a matter of landing, but of allowing the ground to greet your approach for always the grass and rock remain in their place, unyielding to any manner of fall._

He gave a slight chuckle as he stood and faced his brother. "Where is Elrohir?"

Elladan's eyebrows folded in upon the bridge of his nose, giving him all the resemblance of his father. "It unnerves me that you are able to do that with such ease, where it seems that I, of Elven-kind, should break my foot."

"And how astounding that you should admit this to me?" Strider allowed himself a deep laugh as he reached out and clapped the tall Elf on his shoulder. "You should learn much from your Sindarin kin. Watching Legolas these long years has aided me in my understanding of the trees." He turned to his right, his intention in leading the other toward their concealed camp thwarted when his soft boot found snag upon a gnarled root, and the Dunédan found himself falling forward. 

Elladan's laughter rang about the air like clear bells on wing. "Oh brother I suggest you not boast so loud in the presence of the trees. It seems they are not as appreciative of your abilities as you are."

Unable to suppress his own laughter, Strider nodded. "Aye." He gave a deep sigh as his Elf brother leaned forward and gave him a hand up. "Again I ask, where is Elrohir?"

Elladan nodded toward the mountain's edge. "I left him that way."

Unsubstantiated fear clenched at Strider's stomach. He narrowed his eyes as his gaze tracked the darkening mountain's edge. "Why did you leave him?"

"He would not come...Estel?" the Elf's own gaze narrowed as he took in the expression on the man's face. "Did you sight something from the tree's perch?"

"No…but I-"

The thrash of brush against rock and stone against water set the two searchers into a defensive posture. Strider's sword was drawn as quickly as the Elf's as Elladan's twin came crashing into view, a specter appearing before them from the dark. 

"Elrohir…?" Elladan called. 

The younger Elf shook his head and made a motion of his finger across his neck. "Men approach," he hissed as he neared the two. He was nearly winded and his voice rough as he informed his brothers. "Twenty or so ride from the south."

"Men?" Strider shook his head. There were no settlements near the Gladden Fields and Lothlorien lay to the south. 

Elrohir nodded. "On horses. Their girdle and standard are of Rohan. I watched them for only a brief time, for I sensed their scout along the mountain's ridge. They ride on this side, their gallop slow and steady."

Strider looked at Elladan. _Rohan horsemen? Along the Gladden Fields?_ It seemed odd placed, as the horsemen of the plains rarely rode north of their borders below the Misty Mountains. With a narrowed eye, the Ranger looked back to the younger Elf. "Did you see if their scout searched for particular importance?" 

"I was not able to purchase close shelter from their eyes." Elrohir glanced behind him. "They are near here. I do not have a dislike of men, nor a fear, but since our ride to Dol Guldur is in restriction, should we not conceal ourselves until we can understand their intentions?"

Elladan nodded and Strider was forced to agree. Their camp was only a few paces away, and a good scout would spot the disturbance if he were on foot along the path. The three of them ran with speed and gathered their things. Near to the northern edge lay a cave the Dunédan had used on occasion for overseeing, and the three hid themselves away. 

Vibration within the ground warned of the horses' approach. They did not ride in speed, but their seemed to be a purpose in their gallop. Strider peered out through a spindling bush, just bursting with spring newness as the Riders came into view. Elrohir had been right in their standard, held high over their heads. Their number was less than twenty, and he gauged their days in travel to be few. They did not have the look of being travel weary. 

"The scout," Elladan hissed in the grey tongue. 

The Ranger saw him as he picked his way along the Gladden River. A man, dressed in dark clothing, spattered with mud and grime from the marshes. A sword remained sheathed at his hip and a folded short bow was strapped at his back beside a small quiver of arrows. The scout paused at the river's edge, his gaze scanning the far shore which sat only a small walk's distance from where the three watched. 

_I know that man._ Strider narrowed his eyes, wishing for all the world that he had the Elves' keen sight. He could not see the scout's face - yet his movements, his stance - pulled at the Ranger's memory.

A horseman wearing a jerkin decorated with the Rohan standard kicked his mount forward and reined in beside the still scout. "You sense something?" His voice rang loud and clear in Strider's ears. 

The unhorsed man shook his head. "I am unsure, my lord. Many have been through here - some orc - some not." 

"What may be the some not?"

The scout looked at the horse lord. "Elf-kind."

Elrohir gave a snort. "He's guessing."

Strider knew the cause of the Elf's distress. "He's tracked you." He glanced back at his Elf-brother. "I told you to watch your boasts."

"Quiet to both of you." Elladan's grey tongue commanded obedience. 

The Ranger leaned in. "Did Glorfindel not dispatch to their King? Mayhaps these riders are in response?"

Elladan nodded. "You say we greet them?"

"I say we gather information, where ever we can." Strider gave Elladan an open look, beseeching the Elf to agree. 

The Horse Lord spoke. "We stand between Lothlorien and Rivendell. An Elven presence is expected." The Horse Lord looked about the mountain. "The news we bare would be better used for the First Born."

Strider touched his brother's shoulder."What news could the Riders have for Elves?" 

With a sigh, Elladan nodded. "I do not know. But I now agree we should make a presence known. I suggest only myself greet them. If they mean harm, and such a thing is possible, Estel," he glared at his mortal brother, grey eyes flashing. "Then you both are free to continue on."

Elladan's logic was sound, yet Strider could see the younger twin blanching at the idea of hiding while his brother went forth. The light was dimming still, twilight nearly spent. Soon there would be only darkness and the Rohirrim would need to camp. It would be best to perhaps join forces, but patience and caution were essential. 

The Noldor moved quietly out of concealment of the cave, but kept his form still well hidden from the eyes or the horsemen. Elrohir filled the space left by his twin and the two, Ranger and Elf, kept a close watch on the men. 

Only Strider's trained gaze continued to rest upon the scout. Something puzzled him about the way he moved. A familiar test played against his senses, and again he was plagued by the feeling he knew this being. 

"Strider…your face is aggrieved." 

"Ro," Strider lapsed into his childhood name for the younger Elven twin. It had been easier for him as a small mortal to pronounce only the first syllable - yet the sound had become more of a personal expectation between the two. Its use now signaled to Elrohir that Estel was worried. "I know that man. I have seen him before."

"The Rhohirrim?"

"No, the scout."

Elrohir pursed his lips. "Then I would say by the expression that lapsing memory gives you, it is not a pleasant recollection. Is he dangerous?"

Again the memory escaped the Ranger and he drew air in between his gritted teeth. He put a hand to his brow, pressing in on his temple to perhaps force the elusive information forth. _Why did he seem so familiar? And why do I suddenly fear for Elladan's life as well as the Horse Lord I do not know?_

The older twin was now close to the riders, who were dismounting. Indeed they intended on camping here. The Horse Lord dismounted and stood beside the scout, who now looked at the darkening wood as the last of twilight dimmed. 

It was in that look that Strider found recognition. Early in his travels with the Dunédan he had encountered a Ranger who claimed to be from Enedwaith. This Ranger's relations had soured within the ranks of the Northern Dunédan, and the foul intentions of this man came to light. Long had there been evil blood, a dark feud between the Wild Men of Dunland, and the Hose Men of the Riddermark. Strider did not know the reasons for the two people's hatred of one another, only that the Dunlendings warred upon the Rhohirrim with bloodthirsty attacks and raids. The exposed Ranger had been one of those of Dunland - his purpose revealed to spy upon the Rhohirrim to gather what he could from the Northern Dunédan and report this much back to his chieftain. 

Strider would never forget the name of Granlyn Tovick. The very man that now stood beside a leader of the men he and his kind vowed to destroy. 

Strider clutched Elrohir's shoulder. "I know that man." He kept his voice low, a hiss in the Elf's ear. "He is Dunlending!"

_Six months ago…_

Evening sun twinkled as it filtered through the wafting leaves outside the room's windows. A light breeze, still chilled by the autumn's dawn, moved the white, soft-spun sheers about the open doors of the terrace. The candles upon the room's dressing table flickered in protest to the wind's teasing. A bell echoed in the distance, announcing the evening meal in the palace of Eryn Lasgalen. 

Legolas gave a soft sigh as he slumped in the wine and gold chair beside the bed of his friend. Two days had passed since their return from the northern woods. Seven of the Elves that fought bravely lay as Trelan did, in a state of sweats and pain, issuing little more than groans and muddled Sindarin. His own leg gave a throb of recovery only when he walked upon it. The medicines of Iswilen had proved thorough as had her cleaning of the wound. Yet his dear friend had not faired as well, his wound not cleansed as evenly. All would recover. The Prince's only fear was that the wound would damage the archer's aim. 

_That is all Trelan would fear, if he would only wake and cease speaking nonsense to me._

Legolas looked again through the open doors. His thoughts strayed to those he had lost to the strange battle. Five dead. Immortal lives banished to the House of Mandos. The weight of responsibility again pressed down on him, as had his father's countenance when he'd come to look upon the condition of his son. The Prince did not assume to know the King's mind, only that he felt blame, whether directed at himself by his own misgivings, or by his silent father, he did not know. 

But again his thoughts returned to the spiders and their behaviour. They had been fleeing - of that he was sure, even if no other in the whole realm agreed. They had fled north, skirting the edges of the Elf-held lands, and the Prince's party had stumbled into them. Fingolfin and his sister had been tracking a band of orc at the same time, heading in a southernly direction. 

And the two should meet. Yet the Prince felt he was missing some vital connection between the two paths. There was a subtle assurance in his instinct that told him he had to pay attention. Something dark was moving, from whence direction, the noble Elf could not be certain. 

He wished to speak to his father about his musings, yet he had been told his father was busy with the wounded. Trelan moaned and Legolas looked to his friend. 

_How had the taint of an orc's blood so wantonly been changed?_ Fingolfin claimed there were ways to see the changed orcs, though it had taken his people several months to set their senses keen on these subtleties. Legolas saw one orc as he saw many. 

_They are enemies; a blight upon this world. A defiled, warped and foul version of our own people. _"Such thoughts, my Prince, shall not aid in your friend's recovery."

So preoccupied with his thoughts, he had not heard Fingolfin's foot fall upon the marbled floors. Legolas did not turn, but allowed his old friend to come around and stand by Trelan's bed. The tall, elegant Elf leaned forward, the tips of his dark blond tresses stroking the sheets cast over the sleeping archer. 

How proud and strong Fingolfin had grown. Since his own recovery, only late in the previous night, the Prince had desired to press the returned kin with questions. Why were he and his sister not in the Grey Havens? Where was their Father? How had they come to be so close to King Thranduil's lands and yet he had not laid eyes upon them in centuries? 

Questions, questions. Legolas gave a long sigh. _Will my mind never tire of them? Why does the sun rise and set? Why does my calf still throb if the poison was removed? Why do I feel as though my own Ada will never be pleased with me? Why did so many have to die? Why had I not paid enough attention to where I replaced my knife? _

_Why am I sitting here in the darkening room, asking myself these errant questions?_

"Mayhaps you take too much of the world's burdens upon yourself, Greenleaf,"Fingolfin now stood before him and knelt down in front of his chair. The Elf's eyes were bright, their pupils dilated wide to allow in more light. "Much have you changed in these long years. You have aged, though you look not a day differently than last I bade you farewell."

"I _am_ old," Legolas gave his friend a small smile. He put his hand to his right temple and pressed hard at the dull throb. Iswilen's medicines were strong and well mixed, yet they had given him a foul headache. "And spent. Your sister's remedies cleared the infection, but they did not allow me rest. Too painful did they burn."

"As they do now with Trelan," Fingolfin glanced back at the ailing Elf. "She has something for you tonight, after dinner. It will allow you a deep and healing sleep."

Legolas felt his dark eyebrow arch. His head throbbed dully. "She mixes a potion to finish the job her remedies had not finished?" He winced and pushed at his temple again. "Yrch...she means to dispel me."

"Do not think lightly of her work, Greenleaf. She has mastered my father's gift of healing, much as Elrond of Imladris. I too have felt the sting of the Orc's blood - and she has healed me."

Somehow it was comforting to know the strong Elf before him had sustained the foul black, and come through unscathed. __

"You must tell me more of this new Orc menace - of how you tracked them to where we battled. I should speak with my father of the week's events. Is he-?"

Fingolfin raised a hand to silence the Prince. "King Thranduil is with Iswilen. All will be told in time. Even your Father has not asked us too much, instead making his people available to my sister and her herbs. He has watched closely, and nervous was she in administering to you." A twinkle came to the Elf's eye. "The King loomed over her shoulder, watching every more lest she make a mistake in your healing."

Legolas stared at his old friend. "My father you speak of? Nay, I would believe more that he would pay more attention to the twins of his oldest friend, and least to his errant, failing son." 

Fingolfin's eyes narrowed as he studied Legolas' face, and the Prince felt the hairs on his neck prickle as the Elf's thoughts touched his. _I had forgotten his gift of _whisper_ - that insane ability to speak with thought. I am now not surprised he has known my worries since my awakening._

"And before," Fingolfin said. "It was your thoughts that brought our group to your battle. I recognized them, even as guilt-ridden as they were." The Elf pursed his lips as he studied the Prince. "Always I remembered you as Iswilen did - battered, soul-bruised, unable to quail the cries and night terrors that prevented you from a simple night's sleep. I remember the sleeplessness of your father - I can still hear his voice thundering from the tops of this palace, declaring war on all men for what they had done to his son." He smiled. "You do not remember your father's worry. But I do. Iswilen does. And it was under Lord Elrond's tutelage that she learned her first herbs, and grew fascinated with the Healing arts. It was the sight of your battered body and soul that drove our father from this place, away from the troubles of Middle-Earth and men. To the Grey Havens, he had promised."

Legolas' memories of that time were clear, yet muddied. He had been a babe, just past a hundred years in age, and the malicious King Melech had possessed him - taken his freedom and nearly beaten his spirit into submission. Those wounds were long to heal, and he carried the hatred for me with him as a torch that burned fiercely. Had it not been for his meeting of Aragorn, Estel of Imladris, and their subsequent friendship, he would probably still feed such a fire. 

Fingol had taken his family, sometime later., while Legolas had been in the wood, lost during one of his quieter times – upon one of the sojourns he would take to mend his mind and soul. There had been no goodbyes – only a vacant space where laughter and camaraderie had once lived.

Banishing the memories, the Prince looked longer at Fingolfin, aware the Elf had become silent. His blue eyes were distant, himself lost in memories of some poignant event in his life. "Fingolfin...why are you still here? Did your Ada have a change of heart in sailing home? Did you and Iswilen decide not to follow him?"

A cooler breeze than before traveled through the open doors. It brushed at Legolas' forehead, moved the stray hairs about Fingolfin's face as the Elf swallowed hard and drew his gaze to the Prince's. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but was halted by a scream. 

Within that shrill, piercing sound lived all manner of emotions, most birthed from regret and anger. Torment road the wings of sound and Legolas put his hands to his head as the scream continued about the palace walls. Sorrow, abounding love, surprise, anger, disbelief...all these things did this one agonizing sound encompass. 

Memory lashed at Legolas, yanking him back thousands of years to a day he wished long buried, when his mother was taken from this world to forever dwell in the House of Mandos. His father had made that sound as she slipped away. And he, as a small child, had been unable to bear the grief and anguish of the King then...

...and now. 

Fingolfin cursed as the sound died away. The Prince shakily pulled his hands from his ears, greeted by the sounds of quickly moving servants and attendees outside Trelan's room. The emotions born on that wave of panic were slow to dissipate and Legolas found he had been holding his breath. He released it and gathered more air into his lungs. 

"She has told him the truth," Fingolfin leaned down to Legolas. "Greenleaf, I must go. Stay here with your friend."

But the Elf Prince could not remain alone, not with the memories that scream had resurfaced. He trembled as he had trembled that day, all the years of acceptance of his mother's passing wiped away with a single sound. He gripped the tall Elf's hands and Fingolfin knelt down beside his friend. 

"My father..." the Prince looked into his friend's blue eyes. He could not draw a breath. _Such grief! Ai...what has happened?_ "That was my father."

Fingolfin's pupils widened, and it looked as if his eyes were black. "Iswilen has told your father a grievous truth. News we had not wished upon him for over two thousand years." He looked down for a small space of time, then with a deep breath, took in Legolas' gaze again. "My father, Fingol of Eryn Lasgalen, friend to King Thranduil, is dead," his fair face darkened, his countenance stern. "By the hand of men."

TBC


	3. Trust and Friendship

**Disclaimer:** I own NOTHING of middle-earth. All places and characters are JRR Tolkein's, and New Line Cinema. NO monies are made from this. It is strictly a work of enjoyment.

**So Alone (AKA RainyDayz)** – thanks so much for the encouragement. This story went from a five chapter to a 3 of ??? It has become an epic. I hope I don't disappoint. 

**Cestari** – Thanks! I'll try and keep this updated more often (this is…if sff.net will let me!)

**Tapetum Lucidum** – Thank you so much for your comments. No – no Legomance. Not really my thing. I'd be too afraid to try. Well, I might one day, but not with this story. I do love input on what works and what doesn't. And I hope you enjoy the next installment. 

All references to The Mellon Chronicles are placed with permission from Cassia – who received my first synopsis. Hmm…I might want to update her, when she gets back. 

Chapter Three _The Present…_ Trust and Friendship 

Night rode on swift wings, bringing a chilled wind from the Misty Mountains down over the ragged cliff sides to the river Anduin. Spring had not fully gathered her cloak about her and set it instead as a shield to ward off winter's cruel fight to linger upon this part of Middle-Earth.

Like all points in time, some gathered moments are as a nexus, where decisions made or cast aside make the fate of the universe. Sometimes these moments are willed to fate, and destiny plays out her sometimes-wicked hand, ready to achieve her goals in the end, no matter what the means. As it had been for Strider's father had they not journeyed on that particular road, at that particular hour, who is to say his father would not have lived? And if so, would Strider have lived with the Elves? Would he have known Lord Elrond's love? Or the love and protection of twin brothers?

Such thoughts clouded the Ranger's decision making as he watched Elladan move silently and easily towards the gathered Horse Men, who were even now finishing their menstruations for camping the night beside the river. Should he signal to his brother of the Dunlending's danger? Would that action change whatever this meeting might hold? Or would his and Elrohir's hidden position prove better in defense if Granlyn Tovick should make a hostile move? 

Fear for Elladan as well as the quake of indecision made Strider shift where he knelt. Elrohir placed a firm hand on his shoulder, and the Elf's gray eyes were wide with caution. "Stay for now and let our positions and being benefit Elladan. If this Dunlending is truly a danger, then let us act upon him with surprise."

Such words were truth, and the younger twin had spoken Strider's heart. _Elladan could be in danger, and yet his brother seems so calm. Relaxed. Confident. If only I possessed the sheer tenacity of the Elves, my life might at times go smoother._

With a curt nod the Ranger looked back to the elder Elf's descent and was surprised to find Elladan had vanished. Strider searched the surrounding bush with his gaze and he shifted again. 

Elrohir pointed behind the Dunlending to a scrap of brush and the very tree Strider had stood watch in earlier. "I see my brother also senses perhaps treachery for the Rohirrim have seen him, yet the scout is none the wiser."

This was true, as Strider noticed the other Horse Men had put hand to hilts, each of them stopping their toil as one to the other placed hand upon shoulder and nodded to the approaching Elf. Strider saw the Horse Man leader give a curt bow, his hand to his breast. 

With a smile, the Ranger listened. 

"I give you greetings from the Rohirrim, First Born," said the leader loud and clear. 

The Dunlending whirled when he realized he had been approached from behind, his sword drawn, and a knife in his other hand. But Elladan was prepared, his right hand catching the wrist of the sword arm, and easily separating the Wild Man from his knife. 

With a howl the Dunlending retreated a few steps and Elladan released him. The scout brandished his sword anew and meant to charge the Elf. 

But the Rohan Leader unsheathed his own weapon with flashing speed and with a step forward, easily laid it to the Dunlending's throat, ceasing his intended attack. "Do not raise a hand to the First Born."

The scout snarled and scowled, his sword raised. He did not lower it. 

"Sir - lower your blade and abandon your attack or I will slit your throat."

The Dunlending relented and his sword arm came down at a snail's pace, yet Strider could see the malice in Granlyn Tovick's eyes. He leaned to Elrohir. "He is upset because our brother came upon him unawares."

"Pride," Elrohir said and shook his head. 

Strider gave his Elven brother a glance, but decided to remain silent. _Should you not cast judgment of others over something you yourself possess in scads?_ But it was an argument for another day, and the Ranger turned his attention back to the ground below. 

The conversation became hushed and Strider's mortal ears were locked away from their words. But he kept his attention on Granlyn Tovick, waiting for the man to make another move against Elladan. But to his relief and suspicion, the scout kept his distance. 

"They have news for us," Elrohir's stance tensed and he glanced at Strider.

Elladan turned in their direction and signaled the all clear. The mingling of relief and fear spurred Strider on behind his brother, and he kept still his Elven short-knife in his hand and at the ready. 

It did not take the two of them the smallest of time to join their brother. Strider watched the scout back away, again his countenance stern and his expression poisoned. He had not known of their presence as well, and his pride was again wounded. 

And wounded animals were not to be trusted.

"I present my brother, Elrohir of the House of Elrond, and the Dunédan Strider, also my brother and of the Last Homely House." Elladan's introduction was eloquent and yet vague with Strider's identity, which the Ranger liked. 

The Horse Leader narrowed his eyes at Strider. "You are a man among Elves." It was not a question, but a summing up of opinion changed and rethought. "I am surprised to see Man and Elf travel in company."

Strider nodded, but kept his gaze fixed on the scout. "And I am amazed to see the Rohirrim keeping company with a sworn enemy."

He did not miss Elladan's surprised expression, nor did he miss the unspoken explanation given by Elrohir, for in its telling, the Elder Twin looked upon the scout with renewed suspicion. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the Horse Leader's answer. "I know well the history and questionable reputation of Granlyn Tovick, but were it not for him, I would not have such distressing news of a missing Elf," he looked to each of them. "Come and sup with me by the fire and I will tell you all."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Night crept on as was its want as the Elves and Men sat around the fire. Mead and wine were served, though the attention and talk was not of a merry making. More introductions were given, and the Rohirrim Leader gave his history as a credential for his sincerity. 

His name was Rodérin, son of Bodén of the King's guard. His mother had once known one of the High Born, her very life saved by his clever skills with sword and dagger. Rodérin's childhood had often revolved around stories of the First Born, of Ilúvatar, and of Men the ones that came after in the third song. Rodérin shared his mother's love of the Elven race, and had always wanted to meet Lord Elrond himself, eager to speak with such a learned scholar and healer. 

But his duties as a guard's son had always intervened, and now he bore three children himself, all of which would know the old lore, and respect the Elven people. 

Such words both overjoyed and frightened Strider. Much of the world that was not Elvish, especially those small pockets of the scattered race of Man, distrusted the Elves. Most blamed them for their own hardships. Strider could not tell if this man were friend or foe, yet his sincerity seemed real. _Och if only for Legolas' keen senses in such matters. He would know if this man were false or true._

Yet Elladan and Elrohir, if they sensed anything false or ill placed, remained quiet and stoic as Rodérin revealed the tale. 

The fire cast a flickering light upon Rodérin's face, and the man appeared both old and young. He smoked a pipe, tasting the weed Strider carried, finding it relaxing. Most of the small party was in attendance, with a small division on guard. All listened with respect and awe to their commander. 

"Had to have been a fortnight ago that the horse came to us. We were several leagues from Rohan, out because of the odd attacks here and there of Orcs that had wondered into the Gap - a place rarely traveled by such creatures." Rodérin took a small toke of pipe and blew it quickly as he looked from Elladan to Elrohir. "It was a beauty, like nothing I had ever lain my eyes upon, and it was no stock of our people, for it held an intelligence in its eyes I'll not soon forget." 

Strider suspected he knew the horse before any word was spoken. Asforloth. The horse of Glorfindel. 

Rodérin continued. "It came to us, tracked by this man," he pointed to Granlyn Tovick, who sat a few paces away, sharpening his blade on a stone. "We knew what he was, a Wild Man of Dunland, and he was quick to give us his name. He also knew the horse was Elven, and the rider had been taken. He bargained this information for possession of the horse." The leader glanced again at the Scout. "I have not yet made my decision."

"You said the rider had been taken?" Elrohir ventured. His gray eyes were wide and his brother laid a hand upon his shoulder. "By whom?"

"Orcs," Granlyn said, his voice a mere grating of steel on stone. "Or something like them. And a group of men whose dress and garb I had never laid eyes on before in my time." 

"And you trust him? A Dunlending?" Strider bit his tongue, admonishing himself for speaking his thoughts aloud. 

Rodérin opened his mouth to speak, but Granlyn interrupted. "What I am had little to do with what I saw, Strider of the Dunédan," he spoke the title as if it were a word that tasted foul upon his tongue. "I know the abilities of the pointy-ears. And I saw four of these creatures in the company of orcs take him down. I watched as the horse fled and I chose to pursue the steed."

"What did the Elf look like?" Strider began packing his own pipe, still keeping his gaze upon the Dunlending. "Could you see his appearance?"

Granlyn shrugged. "An Elf. Blond hair that burned nearly white in the sunlight. He wore simple clothing of green and gold - but of his face, I gathered nothing. I could only assume he was as fair as the rest of the race."

Strider gave a long sigh. It was a description that would describe over half of the Elven races of Mirkwood and Lothlorien. But the only Elf the Ranger had known that could ride Asforloth, other than the twins or Legolas, was Glorfindel. And Elrond had sent the Elf Lord most recently into the Gap.

"And what of our brother?" Elladan rose, his hands clenched into fists. None of the Rohirrim moved against him, and Strider believed the Riders would have welcomed some entertaining sport at the expense of the scout's life. "What became of him?"

"He was taken," Granlyn stood and held his ground, though he was mightily dwarfed by the tall Elf. "I am not foolish to pursue such a group that could overpower a First Born."

"So instead you conspired with your cowardice to steel his horse," Elladan said. 

Strider stood as Rodérin did. The Ranger put a hand on Elladan's shoulder. In the gray tongue he spoke. "Sit, he is not worth the anger. He speaks as if Glorfindel still lived. Hear out Rodérin."

With a glance at Strider, the tall Elf returned to his seat, though he kept his gaze locked upon the scout. Strider found delight in the Dunlending's discomfort.

"It is true, we in truth caught Granlyn in the middle of attempting to catch such a fine beast. He told us this story, and since I knew the work of Elven hands upon the bow and quiver the man had in his possession, I knew there was truth somewhere in his speaking. I could not believe such a disreputable man would possess such fine quality unless he had absconded with it. So I called upon my most trusted men and made a deal with this man, to lead me where he saw the Elf taken and track their progress. It seems they headed in this direction."

Strider looked at his brothers as they cast their glances upon him. "Dol Guldur."

"Nay," Rodérin said. "They couldn't possibly be headed for that abandoned place."

"The Northern Rangers," Strider glanced at the scout. "Have heard rumors of Easterlings seen at Dol Guldur and there have been tales of the Nazgûl there as well."

"Ring Wraiths?" Rodérin appeared visibly shaken. He tapped the bowl of his pipe out on the rock where he sat. "This is indeed grave news. You think these men Granlyn saw were Easterlings?"

"Aye," Strider nodded. 

"Then they traveled in the company of Orcs."

"Which have descended from Gundabad into the Misty Mountains," Elrohir finished. "There is something foul indeed at work here. But if Glorfindel yet lives we should make haste to aid him."

Elladan nodded and Strider gave his own approval. They were set for the tower at their outset and now their journey had taken on new purpose.

"It was with this news of the Orcs that our father sent Glorfindel," Elrohir said to Rodérin. "Elrond wanted you warned, as your land rests below the Mountain's end."

"Then if these intruders, these Easterlings," Rodérin nodded slowly as he spoke, "If they knew what your friend had in mind then it is by all belief that they stopped him."

"Mayhaps," Strider said. It sounded all so simple, and yet he could not dissuade the warnings of his mind that sometimes the smallest, simplest of plans were set to weave spells of deceit upon the intended. _I cannot help but wonder if our going to Dol Guldur is not a trap in some way? As if we are being led there._

Rodérin glared at Strider. "I feel uncomfortable in this, yet I cannot in clear conscious allow one of the First Born to suffer. My Mother would never forgive me. I will ask my men if they wish to accompany myself with you into the outskirts of Mirkwood Forest. I wish no harm to come to the Elf who would have been our patron and if there is a threat of such a trio of forces, then I must see it, and report back all to my King."

Elladan looked to Strider. The Ranger glanced at Elrohir who nodded, his expression unreadable. "We will accept your help, however it is given."

"But I must make one concession." Strider spoke and his voice was unmasked. 

Rodérin nodded. "I feel I know where you stand on this, and I must tell you we will need a scout."

"I am trained in such a way, as are my Elven brothers," Strider nodded to each of them. "You would question the ability of two Elves and their senses, and a tested Dunédan against a murderous Dunlending?"

"I am no murderer!" Granlyn Tovick took a single step forward to Strider. "I know who you are. I recognize you. You are Telcontar, the Ranger of many names."

"And I have seen many things and experienced three times as much," Strider turned and faced the weaseling man. Several Riders moved slowly and began surrounding the scout from behind, their distaste of him obvious in their expressions. "I was there when you struck down your leader. I was there when you cursed the name of Rohirrim. I was there when your identity was revealed. I do not trust you, Wild Man. And I cannot banish the suspicion in my mind that you played some small part in our brother's capture."

As if spurred by Strider's words, or perhaps fear, the Dunlending let out a cry and spun, bringing his sword around. Two of the Riders were taken by surprise, their swords at their sides as the scout's blade sliced neatly into their chests, mortally wounding them both. As they fell back, Granlyn brought his sword around with the intent of removing Strider's head, but the Ranger was ready, his sword drawn, and he easily blocked the attack, then parried, spun and brought the sword low to hack at the man's left shin. 

Granlyn howled and dropped his sword. He was immediately taken by three more of Rodérin's men and dragged away. Elladan and Elrohir had immediately knelt beside the two fallen Riders. Their faces clouded and Strider recognized that expression. It was the same one the Prince of Mirkwood wore at times, when those they had met along their travels had died. 

It was the shield they wielded to protect their hearts from ache and grief, for only grief and the mortal wound of a weapon could end the life of a First Born. _Never allow yourself to love them_, Elrond had told his sons, and Strider had heard him. _For their lives are brief, their fires burn fast and bright, and when they pass from this world, they are gone to us forever. Don't be taken down into that darkness, for it will consume your light as well._

"I am sorry," Elladan said. He stood in unison with his brother, one mirroring the other. 

Rodérin's own expression was grim and Strider saw the leader's eyes glisten with unshed tears. "One was my brother-in-law, who followed me here, eager to see the Elves." He looked at Elladan. "I am happy yours was the last face he saw."

Strider closed his eyes and offered a small prayer in Elvish. 

Three of Rodérin's men came to his side for orders. Their leader's gaze never left his kin. "Bind him. He comes with us, as prisoner and perhaps trade to the Easterlings." 

Strider started to protest the Wild Man's including, on his tongue the truth that the Easterlings were not known to exchange prisoners, until he saw the expression of fear on Granlyn's face. Then he realized with a smile that Rodérin believed as he did, that somehow the scout shared responsibility for Glorifindel's capture. Baiting him as such might prove in the end, the Dunlending's undoing, and reveal more to the tale as they neared Dol Guldur. 

The Rider moved away to carry out his leader's orders. Strider rubbed his forehead, wanting nothing more than to banish his thoughts. _I should have destroyed him when I saw him. I should have cut him down. If I had been stronger, faster, Rodérin's men would still live._

A hand, full of warmth touched his shoulder and he looked into a pair of bright, gray eyes. "Estel, do not cast blame. You did what you could. Instead give your thoughts to the Valar to protect our Elven brother. Think of Glorfindel and know that his torture in the hands of Orcs can be nothing short of agony. For the beasts of darkness do not care much for Elves."

Strider nodded and clasped his hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "Aye and we will find him." _Yes we will find him. I wish you were here, Legolas. Sometimes it is your unquenchable stability that I miss. I truly wish I had your strength to lean against on this journey._

_Six Months earlier..._

_I am torn apart inside. Sundered by a grief I believed long buried._

The night had passed with a fluidity and speed unusual within the deep forests of Mirkwood. Now dawn rose with her brilliant salutation for the day - a new beginning brimming with possibilities. Or at least, that is how the Prince had once thought of mornings, a time of peace and joy, of reflection and meditation upon the day. 

_I cannot look upon the morning - I cannot look upon his face again. Too close is his grief at his friend's passing, that I see my own grief for my Mother._ Legolas sat with his head in his hands, his unbraided flaxen hair spilling over his fingers, cloaking his shoulders. He had not eaten since his awakening from the tainted Orc's blood - and he could not eat now. Or drink. Grief worked its way into his thoughts, buried her vile and saddening fingers into his heart, and whispered to his soul. _I had believed my Father incapable of such love and devotion. I had forgotten his despair at my Mother's passing. Even now those memories clamor for my attention, demand they be given penitence for my forceful burial of their pain._

He sat in the great hall at the farthest end of a long table. To his right was his Father's throne, empty now as it had been since evening began. Sunlight twinkled from the great windows set in colored glass, and cast rainbows of brilliance upon the floor and the table. He sensed Iswilen nearby. She had come to him several times, offering him a cup of water or a flask of wine. He refused both as his stomach twisted and fought with him. 

From the shadows to the left of the throne, he heard Thranduil again demand to know the story. The telling had gone on all night - over and over again. It was as if the King somehow believed that in the retelling of it, the ending would somehow differ than before. 

Fingolfin's usual calming voice was showing signs of weariness and frustration. "...perhaps a league from the river - I was with a hunting party nearer perhaps to Aman Sûl. We were attacked by men, they believed we bore great treasures." 

"But what treasures would drive men to kill Elves?"

"Sire, I do not know. And in the end, I do not think my Father knew for what spoils he died. He has been gone less than a decade and I have struggled to put many of those memories behind me."

Legolas listened for his father again - but the King must have only nodded for Fingolfin continued.

"I do not believe they would have killed us, if there had not been an odd desperation in their eyes. They were driven by something - something they sought and somehow believed we possessed. My Father argued with them, and when they killed several of our people..."

At every retelling Fingolfin had paused at this same passage. Legolas squeezed his eyes shut as he sensed his own friend's grief and sadness. 

"I do not like my brother defending them," Iswilen said, her voice so near beside Legolas that the Prince was startled into sitting up, and as he did, the wound in his calf throbbed. Slowly it was healing, as if the tainted blood refused to release its hold on life.

She stood to his right, though her face and gaze were focused on the shadowy alcove. He waited for the throbbing of his calf to subside to a dull ache before speaking. "You have not spoken of your discomfort before."

The twin turned an icy gaze to the Prince. "I have never been asked. As soon as I spoke the truth of his friend's passing, your father sent straight away for Fingolfin, as if my words could bear no more truth than a Wraith's."

He frowned at the venom so poisonous in her tone. His own sorrow stayed its hand as he took an interest in her anew. "I do not believe my Father passed by your appraisals or capabilities in the retelling of the tale simply because he does not trust you."

"Nay dear Prince." She raised her right eyebrow into a perfect arch. "As long as I tend to the infirmed, and you are healed, my place is respected. But now my duty is finished." Her eyes narrowed. "I too was there. It was not desperation that pushed them on Legolas; it was greed. They looked upon our horse's bridles, the fabrics of our clothing, the silver and gold adorning our heads and arms, and they coveted them."

Such harshness had never been held in Legolas' memories of his childhood friend. She had been a bright soul - full of song and love of life. He had not seen it in the forest before, but here in the quietness of the hall he sensed a darkness, a shadow that covered her as a shroud. "You say they killed your people to steal your possessions."

"They tried," she stood taller, but still looked down her nose at him. "My brother and I fought them. We slew many of them as they slew us. The fiend that killed my father stabbed him in the back - a coward's device. His spirit fled to Mandos before his body hit the ground."

Legolas pulled his gaze away from Iswilen's - his thoughts sorting what Fingolfin had repeated. Fingol's people had journeyed for many years from Mirkwood, not bothered with time or urgency to reach the Grey Havens. Fingol's intent was on delivering his people away from men, and as long as they achieved just such a state, he seemed happy. Years they rested in the Woodland realms in the Ettenmoors. A thousand years or so passed, until his people were eager to move on again. 

Fingol led them on west where they entered the Hills of Evendim, known to the Elves as Emyn Uial. There his people settled again, intent on exploring the great deserted city of Annúminas, once the City of the Kings of Arnor. Another two hundred years or so passed in peace.

Then the men came. They attacked in the early morning, when most of the young archers were out hunting. Fingolfin had said their intrusion had been swift and unexpected. Many of their people were killed within the first few seconds of the attack. He and his sister had fought - though Fingolfin had been knocked senseless and believed dead, Iswilen had been taken with their father to be interrogated. 

Fingolfin had awoken to a great wailing, a lamenting keen that hurt his soul. He had eased away from those men that patrolled the dead. Swiftly he stole bow and sword and found where his sister and father were. Terrible was the sight he beheld in what had once been his people's gathering hall, though he would not speak of what it was he beheld. His father and those that still held defiance in them gave out a great call and a rebellion ensued. 

Fingolfin joined in, felling many men before he got to his sister. Yet before he could save his father, the men's leader did as Iswilen said - sliced through Fingol's heart with a long sword of Elven make - his father's own work. 

Legolas swallowed the bile that threatened to rise again in his throat. _Such atrocities. And yet I am surprised? I who have experienced the cruelty of men? I once despised them as Iswilen does. I refuted them, thought only of their eventual destruction and erasure from Middle-Earth._

And then...

A chance meeting had changed everything. A wounded Ranger lost on the edges of Mirkwood - a man with a great legacy. A man who had been raised by Elves. The two had become dear and inseparable friends - and everything had changed. If it had not been for Estel, Legolas might still hold such vehemence for the race of men in his heart. 

His father's voice rose again above Fingolfin's and Legolas opened his eyes. Iswilen had moved to the chair opposite him. She sat with her right side facing him, and he reached out to touch her shoulder. 

Her abrupt withdrawal - nay, her spurned retreat - executed with such speed and vigor, seemed almost familiar to the Prince. He narrowed his eyes as she held him in her own untrusting gaze. "You're trembling."

She looked away from him, her face flushed crimson. Iswilen wrapped her arms about her shoulder and looked away. 

_Just as I once looked away from Estel when he chanced to touch me...and could not stop the shaking of memories long entrenched in my body._

Realization dawned harsh and ugly on Legolas as he looked upon the twin with renewed anger and understanding. His already bruised heart, suffering from wounds reopened - unshielded now from the grief relived of his mother's death, opened up to his old friend. _Of this we share the same. I am a kindred soul and I could help her. _

_Will she hear me?_

"Iswilen," he said softly and stood slowly, if not shakily. She did not look at him. "I know what it is now that Fingolfin saw. He raped you, did he not? The Man? Before your people? Your father?"

Her silence was answer enough. She did not cry - not a tear fell, and Legolas believed in her long anguished life since that day, she had cried enough. Instead her back grew straighter and she lowered her arms as she looked at him. "I do not need your pity."

Legolas put his right hand to his breast; only now aware he wore little more than a light shift and leggings. "I have none. I can only give you my understanding."

She shook her head. "You know nothing of what I..."

"Yes," he said simply, his soft voice enough to silence her angered words. "I do." He licked his lips, amazed at their cracked feel. He needed water. He had become dehydrated. "You remember me, the shivering wreck brought back to my father by Lord Elrond." He lowered his gaze, not wanting to go forward, but knowing he had too, if only to ease her anger. "Many things were done to me...some I have been able to work through, with solitude and the whisper of my wood. But there are some things so terrible - nightmares that rip away your very self that you fear you will never get it back. And that any touch - any - will finish what was started in that instant of violation. And from that pain, that wound, festers the repulsion of touch, closeness, companionship."

As he spoke her eyes widened and the harsh lines of her anger faded. She put a hand to her lips. "Legolas...I did not realize - I did not guess they had done such things to you."

"I do not speak of them, and with Elrond's help, and that of a close friend, I have overcome much of my anger. The wound is still there, and it slowly heals."

"Lord Elrond's kindness is testimony enough to his vast knowledge of sickness, though of the mind I cannot fathom his wisdom. But to have a friend to help you through such a thing - to share such an intimate violation with someone," she shook her head. "Who is this hero that has been such a friend to you through these centuries since your wounding?"

_Centuries_. Legolas blanched inwardly. She believed his friend was Elven, and rightly for her to do so. He thought in that instant that perhaps it would be best not to divulge Estel's identity and race just yet, since she might not understand such a friendship in her state. "He is not here in Mirkwood," Legolas swallowed and cleared his throat. "He is in...Rivendell."

Iswilen smiled. It was nice to see it. "Then perhaps I will meet him one day, for my journey's end is Imladris. By what name should I ask of him? For I wish to lay blessing upon the one that brought our Prince from the brink of a grief filled end."

Again the Prince cleared his throat, and before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice answer, "Estel."

"Hope - what a fitting name."

The Hall's Great doors opened wide then, their banging holding everyone's attention hostage. Legolas gave an audible sigh, relieved to have the twin's attention diverted elsewhere. One of the King's aids ran on nimble feet down the long hall, past the table. He gave a small bow to Legolas as he approached the throne. 

King Thranduil moved out of the shadow with Fingolfin behind him. Legolas forced himself to look at his father's face, to confront the anguish reflected in that stern, ever-young countenance. It seemed though as if that expression had aged, for dark circles hung beneath his eyes like dark moons, and his own flaxen hair was limp upon his shoulders. 

"My liege," the aid stopped and gave a bow. 

"Speak," Thranduil said, and the Prince noted the anger and irritation in his father's voice. 

"There have been two more attacks, Sire" The aid stood up straight and faced the King. "This one was in the southern region, near the foot of the mountains. A small hunting party, hoping to avoid the Spiders and hunt for game and a patrol in the southwest border."

"Survivors?"

The aid shook his head slowly. "None. In both instances, our scouts found Orcs as well."

Thranduil's face grew livid and he cast a glance at each of those in the room. He turned, his gaze sliding over Legolas and Iswilen, and looked behind him to Fingolfin. "Gather some men. I want those areas scavenged. I want to know why these Spiders are attacking unprovoked. I want these ill-tainted Orcs found. And then I want them both exterminated."

"Father?" Legolas started forward, only to have his wounded leg give way. He nearly fell against the table but Iswilen caught his arm. She was discrete in her aid and did not linger nearby. "I can go with Fingolfin."

"You?" he looked his son up and down once. "You are in no shape to ride, much less fight if need be. And I might suggest you practice more on your aim with knives before you engage in any combat, hence you wound yourself again."

The King nodded to Iswilen, more out of courtesy than respect, then strode from the room, his robes billowing out behind him. 

Even as the door slammed in the great hall, Legolas' body trembled. His father's words stung and continued to wrestle with his pride. A realization about his injury came to him, one he'd not thought of before. King Thranduil was embarrassed. His son had wounded _himself_. 

Thranduil's pride was bruised. His son was clumsy, unskilled, and invalid. 

"Legolas," Fingolfin was beside him. The use of his Elven name brought his attention to the twin. "I am sorry for what he said. Come...let's get your leg looked at one final time, and perhaps my sister can help in setting it where it does not pain you."

The Prince started to protest, but the twin put up his hand. "Greenleaf - turn that anger to a better use. To the Spiders and the orcs, but not your Father. He is grieving inside - and with that grief comes thoughtless words. He does not wish you to go into danger because he feels he has lost too much."

"Nay," Legolas reached out to the table, his legs shaky. "He is right. I would be no good to you. I can barely stand." Though the pain in his leg was not as in evidence as before, his grief remained, an insistent nagging upon his conscious. _If I go with them, perhaps I can avoid the facing of such pain – but in the end, such a state will overtake me, and I fear for that moment._

"You are wrong," Fingolfin winked and his gray eyes twinkled like starlight. "In your thinking." He tapped a long, slender finger to his temple. "When the grief comes, I will be there. I vow to keep you on your feet. But for now, I prefer horses to walking. Perhaps seated you could be much help. I might can hear your thoughts - but you speak to the trees as I cannot." He turned to his sister. "You will help us?"

"I will accompany you?"

"Can I really stop you?"

She smiled and Fingolfin laughed. He looked to Legolas but gestured with a nod to his twin. "Be glad you do not have one of these." He nodded to his sister. "They get you into all sorts of mischief."

Legolas thought of Estel then; closest he had to a sibling and he gave a small laugh as he thought of all the close-calls he and the Ranger had been in during their friendship. "Yes..." he said as Fingolfin gave him an arm to lean on. "They do, don't they?"

_Aragorn, I wish you were with me, for it is within the strength of our friendship that I will find the power to evade this greiving I have put aside for too long. For if I cannot build that strength into a shield, I fear it will devour me._

_TBC_


	4. Capture and Doubt

_Disclaimer: I own NOTHING of middle-earth. All places and characters are JRR Tolkein's, and New Line Cinema. NO monies are made from this. It is strictly a work of enjoyment._

**The use of Trelan and Raneian from the Mellon Chronicles, as well as said references to events in said Chronicles, was given by Cassia when I sent her the synopsis. As far as I know, Fingolfin and Iswilen are constructs of my own imagination. Any resemblence to anyone living or dead is strictly in the mind of the reader, though the name of Fingolfin comes from the Silmarillion. This Fingolfin was named for that great hero.**

**NaughtyNat: yes, I intend the statement of Brother as it is between Strider and Legolas. That Elrohir and Elladan consider Glorfindel their 'brother' as in brethren Elf. ^..^**

Chapter Four Capture and Doubt Two months ago…****

He watched the succinct rhythm of movement and steel, purpose married to action. The ever-retreating sunlight of Mirkwood gave accent to form as the blade spun round in his hand, its edge a whir of wind whispered to his ear. Flaxen wisps of hair retreated from the movement as the marriage of muscle and mind directed the left hand back and the blade slid easily, precisely into its sheath at his back as his right removed the twin.

Legolas brought the blade down in an arcing motion, his gaze forward in concentration upon the tree before him. An oak as large and round as the columns within his Father's audience chambers. He spun the short sword in his left hand twice and released the hilt to his right hand. 

_What could they be talking about that could not include me? Am I not his son? His only son?_

The Prince lowered the sword, the tip just grazing the shortened grass at his feet. He stood in the small glade outside the palace, dressed in warrior brown and green. Upon his fair features rested an expression of sadness, one he'd carried heavy for four months, since the arrival of Fingolfin and Iswilen.

_What have I done in his eyes to deserve such distance? Surely we have experienced differences in opinion before. _

With a deep sigh Legolas re-sheathed his blade. Fingolfin had gifted him with a set of twin swords like his own. It had been the Twin's first, a gift from his father. The Prince had practiced in their use, taking lessons from his childhood friend. His shoulders slumped with the weight of the past weeks and he lowered his head. 

"Legolas? " came the familiar voice of Trelan. 

He turned to see his dearest friend step from the palace door, his hands clasped behind him. His own expression wore lines of worry not often seen upon an Elf. "Your leg no longer pains you."

Legolas shook his head. He was happy to see his old friend up and around, for there had been several weeks or worry about the wounded Elf. He believed it was Iswilen's gift for healing that saved Trelan's arm. "Nor does your arm pain you." The Prince shook his head. "Nay...there are mornings when the ache wakes me before the dawn's song. I fear such a wound of my own making will follow me until I myself take leave of this world." He gave his friend a half smile, but could not keep his gaze from wondering up to the three tall windows of colored glass upon the palace wall.

Trelan followed his liege's gaze. "I'm still at odds with your somewhat self inflicted exile from your Father. Has their been some argument as of late that would strike such a cowering blow to familial trust?"

The Prince frowned at Trelan. "'Tis not I that drove me from his chamber." He turned and looked at the trees. How often in these weeks had he dreamed of touching their branches? Of lingering within their care in the deeper places of the forest? Yet the spider's travels and the now ever-present danger and threat of the Orcs kept them all nearer to their home. 

Trelan took a step closer to his Prince. "Legolas, I am not as blind as I sometimes pretend to be. But neither is Fingolfin. He knows your Father has taken him on as confidant and nearly advisor. But there is a rational purpose in the King's intent."

Legolas turned quickly, his blue eyes flashing. "Is there truly? Then what is it, Trelan? What is there in this world, in my home, that he can tell Fingolfin and cannot tell me?"

"He did not push you away, Legolas."

"He bade me go and," the Prince narrowed his eyes and deepened his voice to take on the level and cadence of his Father the King, "'practice my skills to be as great a swordsman as Fingol's son.'.." He rubbed his neck with his right hand. "I am a fine warrior. I have trained for over fifteen hundred years. And I am better than Fingolfin in many things."

"I hadn't realized you were in a competition," Trelan said with a smile. 

Legolas shook his head. "I wanted to send another envoy to Rivendel. We are cut off here, Trelan. None of our parties that left have returned. There has been no word from those sent to Radagast the Brown. The Spiders close in upon us and the Orcs," he thought of his leg and believed he felt a ghost of the former pain. "The Orcs are now more of a threat than ever. We cannot tell often enough which of those are dangerous and those that are not. We are being hemmed in from all sides."

Trelan unclasped his hands and approached Legolas. He placed a comforting hand on the Prince's shoulder. "I know this, Legolas. I also have lived under Thranduil's rule long enough to know he does not take kindly to suggestions of aid."

"That will be his undoing," Legolas could not contain the vehemence of his resentment from betraying him in his voice. "He thinks I only seek the consoling of Estel."

"Ah," Trelan nodded. "I wondered when or how your father would bring the Dunédan up." 

"Oh, at any opportunity," Legolas put his hand upon Trelan's then moved away. "And I have done all I can to avoid letting Iswilen know of Estel's heritage - her hatred of men is so strong. I fear what may come of their meeting."

"As I have wondered. I wish to have the view of a bird upon such a meeting." 

Legolas shot his friend a challenging look, and then broke from his anger once he gazed upon Trelan's expression of mirth. "I as well." 

The doors of the palace opened wide. The two Elves turned as one as Iswilen charged out, her expression dark. Legolas considered that he had not seen a smile give light upon her face since her first look at him in the forests of Mirkwood. 

"Fingol's daughter," Trelan bowed. 

The Prince's muscles tensed at his friend's words. _Trelan plays with fire - and yet I understand the appreciation of her beauty as warrior and maiden, for I have seen the same light in his eyes._

"Iswilen," Legolas began, an apology for Trelan upon his lips.

The Elven maiden held up her right hand. The filtered Mirkwood sun gave light to her gray eyes as she raised her right eyebrow. "You father has sent me, like some common servant, to fetch you," she pointed at Legolas.

The Prince could only share in the twin's anger. "Ah, he has need of me now? And what would my father ask of me? Does he wish to know if I have mastered the twin blade was well as your brother? Or is he more bothered by my menstruations so close to the Palace? Perhaps he worries that others can see my weaknesses and therefore best me in battle?"

Iswilen stopped before the two and crossed her arms upon her chest, waiting patiently for the Prince to finish his tirade. Her gaze lingered a bit longer upon Trelan before she noticed Legolas had stopped his speech. "No - upon his thoughts I cannot guess. I am unsure of any of those requests. What I can tell you is that he wants you accompanying Fingolfin and I," she nodded to Trelan, "and this one."

"Me?" said the brave friend.

She nodded.

Legolas was unsure of what reaction he should give. He had grown accustomed to being nothing more than his father's errand boy. "Accompanying you where?"

"To the North East border. It seems there is movement in the supposedly abandoned city of Esgaroth."

Legolas and Trelan looked at one another. _Movement?_ Legolas followed the twin and his friend back into the palace.Esgaroth had been abandoned since the defeat of Smaug._ Had men returned?_

Further questionin brought the Prince to a halt in his musings. Iswilen had not said the movement was that of men.

_The Present…_

'Twas another day's journey to reach the edges of Mirkwood to where the spire of Dol Guldur towered over the trees like a dark sentinel overseeing his master's holdings. Fading sunlight shown off the highest turret as Strider and his party made their way carefully into the dark forests. He had not traveled in the southern reaches of Mirkwood much in his recent adventures with the Rangers – yet he was surprised at how dark they had grown indeed. Having only his friend's home to reference such an encroaching of evil, Strider was surprised to find much of the forest still vested in the Necromancer's long past influence.

Rodérin motioned three of his men to the left of the forest path to the tower, and then bade the others follow him to the right. Three of his men remained on the forest's edge to guard the wounded prisoner, Granlyn Tovick. It had been Estel's design to bind and gag the man, for he feared Tovick may howl and bring what lurked inside the tower upon them. 

It also gave the Dunédan a certain amount of pleasure to see the ill-willed Dunlending powerless. _I swore I would see you pay for your crimes, Granlyn Tovick, and by Illuvatar, I will see this done. _

Rodérin bid Strider and his Elven brothers follow him. They crept nearer to a hillock of bramble and twisted trees and Elladan motioned for all of them to approach the precipice in a crouched fashion. 

The Horseman leader pulled himself up between Elladan and Strider. "I fear our reports of activity at the refuge of darkness are true."

Indeed. Strider watched in falling hope as fifty or so darkly uniformed men moved in and out of the tower's lower entrance. Horses were corralled nearby, grazing on dirt and corn by the looks of it. He memorized all the he could, knowing that either now, or in an instant to be, he would rely on what he saw, smelled and felt. 

_And now I feel apprehension._

For just emerging from the entrance among the men was a Nazgûl – a Ring Wraith. 

Rodérin cursed softly. "Bah…then all is as I had feared. The Riders are on the move, and have come again to this place." He frowned and turned to Strider. "But to what end? Surely they do not wish to set war upon Gondor again?"

Strider shook his head. "Nay – I cannot think to know what such dark forces seek here." He noticed something dark and ill formed to the right of the tower, but he could not see. He turned to Elrohir on his right and pointed at the intrusion. "Can you see with your Elven eyes what is beyond those slain trees?"

The gray eyes of Elrond's son widened and Strider watched the pupils dilate to an inky black. He had often watched Legolas' eyes brighten as such and marveled at the beauty of Elven make. 

"I…" the youngest twin shook his head. "I do believe I am seeing…" he turned to look at Strider, his eyes refocusing. "Spiders."

"Spiders?" Rodérin said. His weathered face also twisted in confusion. "Upon what purpose could these dark men have to acquire spider carcasses?" he nodded to the tower. "For surely to be in the open like this they are quite dead."

Elrohir nodded and looked back. "Should I move closer?"

Strider and Rodérin spoke at the same time. "No."

The twin pursed his lips and sat in indignant silence. 

The Dunédan smiled at his brother. _Ah, so often I have seen that very look upon Legolas' face. Perhaps it is a custom of Elves to reflect disagreement so._

Rodérin turned to Strider. "Perhaps Elrohir is right in thinking we should get closer. The Nazgûl does not bode well for Glorfindel's rescue – and I see more Easterlings than I care to entangle until we know more."

Strider shook his head. "I do wish to endanger your men in nearing that place. The Nazgûl…"

Commotion below and the sounds of a horse brought their attention back to the gate. The Ring Wraith had mounted his black stead and now turned its gait to the east. Strider looked back to Rodérin. "The Nazgûl has departed."

"We seek the Elf?"

Strider pursed his lips. He eyed the sky above them, looked to the East with its darkening clouds, though as of late, he was unsure if those ominous billows were of Illuvatar's hand, or that of the Dark Lord's. "We wait until darkness. And then only two of us shall go." He looked at Elladan on the left of Rodérin and then he turned to Elrohir. "You can come with me."

He eyed his human sibling. "Perhaps this is how our Mirkwood brother finds himself so often under our father's care?"

The Dunédan smiled. "Nay – Legolas never invites my help to find trouble, dear brother. He is quite accomplished in seeking it himself."

_Two Months Ago…_

Out of habit Legolas kept his long knife and sword at his side on the ride to the Northern Border. The messenger had given the description of a battle between Spiders and an invader – yet the patrolling Elves had not seen to whom the Spiders gave chase, and there had been no Orcs in the mingle, the two ever a part of one another as of late. And always the Spider came in wake of the Orc. 

_These things puzzle me more than their appearance._ Legolas leaned forward upon his horse and allowed the skilled attention of the beast to mingle with his own as they set their course. _My father can plot and pull intrigue from all over the wood as to why the spiders come and how the Orcs' blood had been so tainted. But my concerns is to the marriage of the two. Always they appear together in the past month. _

_Always._

_As if the Spiders were being pursued. And yet my father cannot see this?_

Fingolfin slowed his mount just enough to ride beside Legolas. "I too wonder these things, Greenleaf."

The Prince narrowed his eyes but kept his gaze forward. "I do wish you would not linger in my private thoughts, Fingolfin."

"You have never fretted thus before," the handsome Elf gave the Prince a half smile. "I am aware of your anger – and I know that it is not at me you wish to direct it, but at Thranduil. I have spoken on your behalf and…"

Legolas pulled his mount to an abrupt stop and gripped the reins as tight as his fists allowed. 

Fingolfin also slowed and turned his horse, a cream colored mare that had once been a part of Thranduil's private stock. The very horse Legolas had raised since birth. "Ah, it has come to this, has it?"

The Prince felt his anger bubble forth, so had he held it in check for weeks, ever the obedient son and Prince. But now he was not within the walls of his Father's home. He was not reigned in by décor and manner. "Come to what, dear friend? You have spoken on my behalf, to my own father? Why should it be so, son of Fingol? Why do I need anyone to speak on my behalf?"

"Legolas," Trelan began, but Iswilen reached out to him as she neared on her white mount. She shook her head once and turned to the two combatants.

Fingolfin was not the least put off by the Prince's words, or his actions. Instead the Elf leaned forward. "Anger does not become you – though I do remember your temper on many occasion, my Prince." He cocked his head to the right. "Perhaps I am wrong, and you _do_ wish your emotion at me."

"Can you not read my thoughts now, Fingolfin? Can you not see my pain?" _Yes, can you not see that I am now drowning in a cage? Suffocating, gasping for freedom to move and chose, to be who I am within my own home?_

"Pain?" Fingolfin's smile faded. "I have seen much pain, Greenleaf. And I am not one to be the bearer of it. I am not here to supplant your place alongside your father. I am here to help him in any way I can. I am here…"

"To replace our father in his eyes." 

Legolas and Fingolfin turned to Iswilen. 

"Nay, sister. You know my heart. You know that is not my wish."

"It may not be yours, but Thranduil sees you as Fingol – and that is with buried pain. He grieves for his friend's demise, and you are his reminder that he must always remember." The twin shook her head. "I know you understand these things – perhaps on some level. But that does not excuse why you sent me to gather the Prince."

Legolas' eyes widened and he looked to Fingolfin. "_You_ summoned me? I believed it was my father."

"Your father has it in his head, dear Greenleaf, that you are incapable of fighting," Fingolfin held up his right hand before the Prince could respond. "Because he is incapable of losing you."

The Prince sat back. His shoulders rounded. "I…"

"He is in pain – of this Iswilen is quite right. And so he wishes to keep you near him by not allowing you to be from him. It was _I_ that was dispatched and it was _I_ that called you. His orders were to take what able fighters I believed were well trained. You were the first to come to mind. I have trained you myself, and as I have said before," He looked up at the ever-present canopy of trees. "You have a way with these beasts that I do not." 

"But I'm not…"

"Ease your mind, Greenleaf, and know that I would have no one else save my sister beside me. You have never lived the court life. You have never wanted it – this I know from your actions. You are not meant to be King by your own choosing, and if we are lucky, Thranduil will live to see the Gray Havens as our father did not."

Such beautiful words – but he was always gifted at speaking what one wanted to hear. Legolas closed his eyes. Was it so bad that it hadn't been his father that sent him to the border? If Fingolfin had obeyed, he and Iswilen would still be within the palace walls, wanted but invisible. 

So much like errant children a parent loved, but could not tolerate.

He closed his eyes. The subtle thoughts were there, those bits of life and connection from the trees. They swayed in the breeze and spoke of danger around them. They told Legolas of a great battle to the North.

The Prince opened his eyes. "Follow me."

And as he passed by, Fingolfin smiled.

_The Present…_

Night came slowly, a starless blanket that held sentry over the darkening forest once known as Greenwood the Great. Strider watched its descent as he smoked his pipe. The orange of the pipe's bowl was the only illumination they dared in the night so close to Dol Guldur. His Numerian blood allowed him to see better in the dark than most men. He kept Granlyn in his sight for the Dunlending had been freed long enough to eat, though his legs remained hobbled. _I do not trust this man. There is something more to his tale – something he has not divulged to Rodérin and I fear we may all discover too soon his treachery._

Elladan came, his cloak removed from his shoulders. Dressed in dark velvets and leggings, the dark haired Elf could easily blend with the night. "Elrohir is ready. Are you sure you will not take me?"

Strider shook his head as he emptied the bowl of his pipe by tapping it against his boot. He tucked the favored item into his pack near a tree and pulled his short bow from his carry. "No, I need you here. If Elrohir and I do not return by sun rise, I will need you to return Rodérin and his men to Rohan, and deliver this news to Elrond." He glanced at Tovick. "I also want to make sure this man stays alive. I do not believe he is telling us the truth."

Elladan narrowed his eyes. "You do not believe Glorfindel is here?"

"I am not sure." He shook his head. "He may be – but the telling of his tale," Strider shrugged. "Perhaps I will better understand my misgivings once I have seen this place closer."

The Elven twin nodded. "I will be here. But I do not like it."

Strider slapped his brother's shoulder. "I know."

Elrohir appeared, also dressed in his darkest leggings, his cloak tossed aside. "I am ready. The night is deep and I am anxious to find Glorfindel."

"I do not know this place on the inside. I am unsure if we shall be able to find him."

"I could help you." 

Everyone turned to glare at the prisoner. He shrugged as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Rodérin stepped forward. "And I suppose you would do this because you are kind and wish to aid us in finding the Elf?"

The Dunlending gave a toothless smile. A shiver raked over Strider's back. 

"Aye, good Lord sir." Granlyn nodded. "I do not wish such things on an Elf. But I do not wish such things on me as well. But I know this place and I know where they would hide him if he is here."

Rodérin shook his head, his arms folded across his chest. He looked as if his patience had reached a boiling point. "You are a liar Granlyn Tovick and I do not trust you. There is nothing you can bargain for. You have slain my kin in cold blood. If given the chance, you would slay us."

"Might be sir," said Granlyn with a returning smile. "But I would better face the Rohirrim punishment given than to be caught between these folk."

"You say you would rather face Rohan's justice than what awaits you here?" Strider nodded. Even through his travels, the Dunédan knew little about the Easterlings or their practices. They were as mysterious to him as the Istari. "Why do you say this, Tovick? Have you been within their number previous?"

The Dunlending's expression betrayed nothing. He only shrugged. "Nay – tis that I know of the Rohirrim and their ways. I do not know of these creatures, and if you say among them stood a Wraith…" he gave an honest shiver. 

"No weapon," Strider said abruptly and moved to gather his sword. 

Rodérin approached the Dunédan and bid him draw nearer. The Horse Leader spoke in a low concern-filled voice. "Have you taken leave of your senses? This man is criminal – a murderer of my own kin, and yet you wish to set him free?"

Strider slid his blade into its sheath and gave Rodérin the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Tovick's abilities as a murderer may be honed, but those of his tracking and hiding, are in lacking. He would not escape Elrohir or myself. And Elladan will be watching as well."

"I believed the First Born would stay here?"

Strider gave a quick shake of his head. "If there is one thing I know of my Elven brethren, it is that they do as they please. These two in particular, are joined in ways neither you nor I can understand. If one is present, though the other may be bodily about elsewhere, the twin will also know the happening of circumstance." 

"Indeed," the Horse Leader nodded. "Then I await word from you."

"You will have it." Strider turned and motioned for Elrohir to follow. The Elf stood on down the path, a mere shadow of movement. Taking on the hood of his upbringing among the gifted of the House of Elrond, Strider too assumed Elven breed and disappeared into the forest.

_Two months ago…._

The battle, or what little there was of it, had long since ended its fierce combat when Legolas and his party arrived. Spiders moved carefully about, their attentions brought into sharp focus upon their prey.

Fingolfin and Iswilen split up as Trelan and Legolas took the right. They found a well-hidden spot due east of the battle's edge. Legolas noted that the twins were positioned in almost the opposing side. 

"They've already begun their spinning," Trelan whispered.

"Aye," the Prince said, his voice merely an echo on the wind. The tress swayed about him gentle, and in their bark they told the tale. "Several are dead," he pointed with a nod to the right. "There."

Trelan breathed in quickly. "They're dwarves!"

Legolas turned and quickly slapped a slender-fingered hand over his friend's mouth. "Do you wish to join them?" He looked up at the trees above them, searching for any stray Spiders. He only saw three within the combatant area – and yet three were enough. 

_They were taken by surprise._ Legolas looked up and to the left where six small cocoons hung on strong limbs. They swayed so slightly in the wind from the border's edge, the movement a faint creaking upon the breeze. Their contents remained still. _Spider venom._ The Prince shivered at his own recollection of their numbing sting. 

Three spiders. He looked past the working beasts to where Fingolfin hid. The Elf nodded to the one closest to he and his sister and made a hacking motion with his right arm. 

Legolas shook his head. _We do not know if these three are all there are. And as of late, they are followed by Orcs. I do not wish…_

_"Oh Greenleaf"…_ came his friend's voice in his ears. He was Whispering as he always had during their early years of play in these woods. _"Simply follow me. Or are you afraid of using your new blades?"_

_He is goading me._ Legolas gave his old friend a half smile. A dark eyebrow arched in defiance, his former anger at Fingolfin dismissed. _Nift._

"He means for us to attack." Trelan leaned in. 

"Aye. On his mark –"

But the tall, striking Elf was already charging the Spider nearest he and his sister. Iswilen's blades were drawn. Legolas gave Trelan a bitter look and followed it with a sigh as he pulled his bow from his back and loaded an arrow. 

Trelan pulled bow and arrow as well and the two fired a volley at the Spiders nearest them. 

Their attack handed in the verdict of surprise, and thus the Spiders were easily killed. Legolas and Trelan felling the two with three arrows apiece, and the Twins gaining only one with hacking swords. 

The four stepped out gingerly as Legolas nimbly went to the three Dwarven bodies he's seen to the right. They were dead, all of them. Their bearded faces staring past him to their ultimate end. 

"Dwarves?" 

The Prince looked up at Fingolfin who had come to stand a foot away. Behind him Trelan and Iswilen began the task of cutting down the cocoons. The first one fell unceremoniously to the ground before Legolas spoke. "Yes. Dwarves."

"If I'd known they were Dwarves, I would not have risked my life."

Legolas did not share any love of the stocky, filthy creatures himself. Yet he and Strider had had dealings with the Dwarves of Moria, and though the place itself set Legolas' fears on edge, the creatures inhabiting those mines did little else than give him an itch. "Then do you suggest we return to tell my father it was dwarves the messenger saw?"

"Nay…" Fingolfin shook his head. "He would only ask why there were dwarves in his Kingdom."

"Arrrgghhhh…"

The two Elves spun with swords drawn, Legolas pulling the right sword from his back. 

The first cocoon had been cut open and a burly man in chain-mail and helm tumbled out. His red face appeared close to exploding as he righted himself, and then fell. 

_He is still feeling the effects of the venom._ Legolas lowered his blade and moved near the Dwarf. He held out his hand as the stocky creature tried to right himself. "Easy…Spider Venom is not to be taken lightly."

The Dwarf saw the slender hand and nearly clasped it within his own – but then he saw the bearer of help and backed away, again falling upon his backside with a stated, "humph". A second cocoon fell followed quickly by a third as Iswilen and Trelan made quick work of sticky bindings. 

"Argghh…" the Dwarf bellowed for a second time. 

Legolas stood back and glanced at Fingolfin. The taller Elf shrugged. The Prince looked at the solid creature. "Are you injured, sir?"

"Elves!" The Dwarf cried again. "Elves!" He then stopped and raised a bushy eyebrow to Fingolfin. "You are Mirkwood Elves? Those of King Thranduil?"

Two more Dwarves were freed and Legolas moved past the burly little creature to aid Iswilen and Trelan. Returning his sword to his back sheath, the Prince pulled his long sword and hacked at removing the last of the cocoons as the twin and Trelan freed another Dwarf. It too came forth from its prison with anger and sound. _Must they all make such harsh noises? I fear we will not be alone for long. _

"Disin…these be the Mirkwood Elves," the first one released said to a Dwarf standing beside Iswilen. The twin eyed the Dwarf down. Disin moved away from the warrior Elf. 

"And so we owe them our lives?" Disin seemed unhappy at their predicament. He looked up at Fingolfin. "Disin, first captain of the Lord of the Lonely Mountain, now known as Erebor." The Dwarf nodded.

Legolas finished the release of the last of the Dwarves, and then moved to where Trelan and Iswilen stood. He did not re-sheath his blade, for there still lingered the tree's warning of danger in the winds.

_"…do not speak…"_

The words came to Legolas and he looked to Fingolfin. _Do not speak? What could he mean?_ For the tall Elf and the Dwarf appeared in deep conversation as the other Dwarves moved about the remaining three Elves. 

It was Trelan that broke the silence. "Fingolfin...I would advise we tarry not. I fear Orcs may be somewhere close."

_"...Legolas...keep your silence..."_

"I agree," the tall Elf nodded to the Dwarf before him. "My suggestions would be to leave Mirkwood. The Orcs my friend speaks of are nothing you would wish to tangle with."

"Orcs," Disin spat and turned to glance at the others. "They do not frighten us."

"I'm afraid these are different," Fingolfin said. 

A wind moved the trees and Legolas tilted his head. He caught the whispers and closed his eyes as the creaking bark gave the call of warning. He opened his eyes to see Fingolfin and Trelan looking to him. He nodded, keeping his voice stilled as the Twin had asked, though he could not understand why.

"My friend speaks to trees. He signals danger."

Legolas did not suspect nor could he have imagined what happened next. The trees whispered of danger - and so he prepared himself for battle against the enemy, his muscles tensing and his keen senses alert.

No Orc burst forth from the surrounding wood. No cry of dark battle or blackened arrow flew. Instead the cocoon strewn lawn filled with dozens of small, squat bodies, each clothed in armor and helm, and each carried an axe of Dwarven workmanship, the craftwork unmistakably Dwarrowdelf.

The quartet of Elves were surrounded by nearly fifty Dwarves strong, all bearded and armed, all with scowls turned to the High Born before them. 

"What is this?" demanded Iswilen, her voice lacking none of the bravado Legolas felt. She held both swords at the ready, metal high, her knees bent. 

Legolas had his long sword held before him. _Do the Dwarves mean to attack us? What is this indeed?_

Disin stepped away from Fingolfin. "'Twas not our intent to capture the Elven King's son yet good fortune does sometimes come from foul error. We had not anticipated the Spiders, and yet, they have led your kind hearts to us."

The King's son? Legolas looked back to Fingolfin. He gave a slight shake with his head. 

"...silence..."

Disin rounded on the son of Fingol. "Within our once rich coffers of mithril we found Elven blade and arrow." He reached inside his thick, studded armor and retrieved a green and brown arrow. ""Tis this not the work of your people?"

The only response Fingolfin gave was that of arching his fair eyebrows. "Master Dwarf, because you spoke in past tense of once filled, I am to assume you believe we Elves have raided your Mithril?" He gave a laugh that resounded through the trees. "I am sorry sir, but if the Elves, any Elf for that manner, were to empty your coffers, they would not leave so bold a clue behind as to the culprit."

"Silence those scolding words," the Dwarf with snow-white hair beside Disin spoke. "Our forefathers dealt with the hospitality of King Thranduil before the Battle of the Five Armies, and we know of Elven greed, for he too wished a share of what Smaug had taken." The Dwarf looked upon Fingolfin with narrowed eyes. "And now his has come again and taken from us, and we intend on taking what he prizes above all else until he returns what is ours."

Legolas felt the heat rise from within, a searing lance that threatened to force voice from his sealed lips. He feared he knew now why Fingolfin had wished him silent.

For the Dwarves meant to take Fingolfin, believing he to be the King's Son, and the Twin intended on allowing them to believe the mistake.

_He's trying to save me._ The Prince moved forward, his sword ready to strike any Dwarf that stood in his way. He could not allow Fingolfin to do such a thing. _There aren't many, and surely if we can defeat Spiders we can defeat -_

He never knew what happened then, for something hard and solid struck the back of his head. As he wobbled on shaky legs, the wound in his calf set to throbbing as darkness surrounded his vision. He felt the sword fall from his hand, his fingers brushing the leather grips as he collapsed onto his knees.

"Greenleaf..." came the voice of Fingolfin, but the Prince's eyes closed as he pitched forward onto the battle-strewn ground.

TBC

N/A I hope not to make my next update take so long. J


End file.
